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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


GIFT  OF 


Estate  of  S.  H.  Cowell 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

GIFT  OF 

Estate  of  S.  H.  Cowell 


EDUC.- 
PSYCK. 
UB8ARY 


Greyfriars  Bobby 


By  ELEANOR/ ATKINSON 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 

PuhllshecUby  arrangement  with  Harper  &  Brothers 


EDUCATION  LIHBi 


COPYRIGHT.    1912.    BY   HARPER  ft    BROTHERS 
PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


r^ 


TO 
MY  HUSBAND 


4*2 


GREYFRIARS   BOBBY 


WHEN  the  time-gun  boomed  from  Edinburgh 
Castle,  Bobby  gave  a  startled  yelp.  He 
was  only  a  little  country  dog — the  very  youngest 
and  smallest  and  shaggiest  of  Skye  terriers — bred 
on  a  heathery  slope  of  the  Pentland  hills,  where 
the  loudest  sound  was  the  bark  of  a  collie  or 
the  tinkle  of  a  sheep-bell.  That  morning  he  had 
come  to  the  weekly  market  with  Auld  Jock,  a 
farm  laborer,  and  the  Grassmarket  of  the  Scottish 
capital  lay  in  the  narrow  valley  at  the  southern 
base  of  Castle  Crag.  Two  hundred  feet  above  it 
the  time-gun  was  mounted  in  the  half -moon  bat- 
tery on  an  overhanging,  crescent-shaped  ledge  of 
rock.  In  any  part  of  the  city  the  report  of  the 
one-o'clock  gun  was  sufficiently  alarming,  but  in 
the  Grassmarket  it  was  an  earth-rending  explo- 
sion directly  overhead.  It  needed  to  be  heard 
but  once  there  to  be  registered  on  even  a  little 
dog's  hr&ia.  Bobby  had  heard  it  many  times. 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

and  he  never  failed  to  yelp  a  sharp  protest  at 
the  outrage  to  his  ears;  but,  as  the  gunshot  was 
always  followed  by  a  certain  happy  event,  it 
started  in  his  active  little  mind  a  train  of  pleasant 
associations. 

In  Bobby's  day  of  youth,  and  that  was  in  1858, 
when  Queen  Victoria  was  a  happy  wife  and 
mother,  with  all  her  bairns  about  her  knees  in 
Windsor  or  Balmoral,  the  Grassmarket  of  Edin- 
burgh was  still  a  bit  of  the  Middle  Ages,  as 
picturesquely  decaying  and  Gothic  as  German 
Nuremberg.  Beside  the  classic  corn  exchange, 
it  had  no  modern  buildings.  North  and  south, 
along  its  greatest  length,  the  sunken  quadrangle 
was  faced  by  tall,  old,  timber-fronted  houses  of 
stone,  plastered  like  swallows*  nests  to  the  rocky 
slopes  behind  them. 

Across  the  eastern  end,  where  the  valley  sud- 
denly narrowed  to  the  ravine-like  street  of  the 
Cowgate,  the  market  was  spanned  by  the  lofty, 
crowded  arches  of  George  IV.  Bridge.  This 
high-hung,  viaduct  thoroughfare,  that  carried  a 
double  line  of  buildings  within  its  parapets, 
leaped  the  gorge,  from  the  tall,  old,  Gothic 
rookeries  on  High  Street  ridge,  just  below  the 
Castle  esplanade.  It  cleared  the  roofs  of  the 
tallest,  oldest  houses  that  swarmed  up  the  steep 
banks  from  the  Cowgate,  and  ran  on,  by  easy 

a 


GREYFRIARS   BOBBY 

descent,  to  the  main  gateway  of  Greyfriars  kirk- 
yard  at  the  lower  top  of  the  southern  rise. 

Greyfriars'  two  kirks  formed  together,  under 
one  continuous  roof,  a  long,  low,  buttressed  build- 
ing without  tower  or  spire.  The  new  kirk  was  of 
Queen  Anne's  day,  but  the  old  kirk  was  built 
before  ever  the  Pilgrims  set  sail  for  America.  It 
had  been  but  one  of  several  sacred  buildings,  set 
in  a  monastery  garden  that  sloped  pleasantly  to 
the  open  valley  of  the  Grassmarket,  and  looked 
up  the  Castle  heights  unhindered.  In  Bobby's 
day  this  garden  had  shrunk  to  a  long,  narrow, 
high-piled  burying-ground,  that  extended  from 
the  rear  of  the  line  of  buildings  that  fronted  on 
the  market,  up  the  slope,  across  the  hilltop,  and 
to  where  the  land  began  to  fall  away  again,  down 
the  Burghmuir.  From  the  Grassmarket,  kirk 
and  kirkyard  lay  hidden  behind  and  above 
the  crumbling  grandeur  of  noble  halls  and 
mansions  that  had  fallen  to  the  grimiest  tene- 
ments of  Edinburgh's  slums.  From  the  end  of 
the  bridge-approach  there  was  a  glimpse  of  mas- 
sive walls,  of  pointed  windows,  and  of  monu- 
mental tombs  through  a  double-leafed  gate  of 
wrought  iron,  that  was  alcoved  and  wedged  in 
between  the  ancient  guildhall  of  the  candle- 
makers  and  a  row  of  prosperous  little  shops  in 
Greyfriars  Place. 

a 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

A  rock-rimmed  quarry  pit,  in  the  very  heart 
of  Old  Edinburgh,  the  Grassmarket  was  a  place 
of  historic  echoes.  The  yelp  of  a  little  dog  there 
would  scarce  seem  worthy  of  record.  More  in 
harmony  with  its  stirring  history  was  the  report 
of  the  time-gun.  At  one  o'clock  every  day 
there  was  a  puff  of  smoke  high  up  in  the  blue  or 
gray  or  squally  sky,  then  a  deafening  crash  and 
a  back-fire  fusillade  of  echoes.  The  oldest  fre- 
quenter of  the  market  never  got  used  to  it.  On 
Wednesday,  as  the  shot  broke  across  the  babel 
of  shrill  bargaining,  every  man  in  the  place 
jumped,  and  not  one  was  quicker  of  recovery 
than  wee  Bobby.  Instantly  ashamed,  as  an 
intelligent  little  dog  who  knew  the  import  of  the 
gun  should  be,  Bobby  denied  his  alarm  in  a  tiny 
pink  yawn  of  boredom.  Then  he  went  briskly 
about  his  urgent  business  of  finding  Auld  Jock. 

The  market  was  closed.  In  five  minutes  the 
great  open  space  was  as  empty  of  living  men  as 
Greyfriars  kirkyard  on  a  week-day.  Drovers 
and  hostlers  disappeared  at  once  into  the  cheap 
and  noisy  entertainment  of  the  White  Hart  Inn 
that  fronted  the  market  and  set  its  squalid  back 
against  Castle  Rock.  Farmers  rapidly  deserted 
it  for  the  clean  country.  Dwellers  in  the  tene- 
ments darted  up  wynds  and  blind  closes,  climbetf 
twisting  turnpike  stairs  to  windy  roosts  undo* 

4 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

the  gables,  or  they  scuttled  through  noble  doors 
into  foul  courts  and  hallways.  Beggars  and  pick- 
pockets swarmed  under  the  arches  of  the  bridge, 
to  swell  the  evil-smelling  human  river  that 
flowed  at  the  dark  and  slimy  bottom  of  the 
Gowgate. 

A  chill  November  wind  tore  at  the  creaking 
iron  cross  of  the  Knights  of  St.  John,  on  the 
highest  gable  of  the  Temple  tenements,  that 
turned  its  decaying  back  on  the  kirkyard  of  the 
Greyf riars.  Low  clouds  were  tangled  and  torn 
on  the  Castle  battlements.  A  few  horses  stood 
about,  munching  oats  from  feed-boxes.  Flocks 
of  sparrows  fluttered  down  from  timbered  gal- 
leries and  rocky  ledges  to  feast  on  scattered 
grain.  Swallows  wheeled  in  wide,  descending 
spirals  from  mud  villages  under  the  cornices  to 
catch  flies.  Rats  scurried  out  of  holes  and 
gleaned  in  the  deserted  corn  exchange.  And 
'round  and  'round  the  empty  market-place  raced 
the  frantic  little  terrier  in  search  of  Auld  Jock. 

Bobby  knew,  as  well  as  any  man,  that  it  was 
the  dinner-hour.  With  the  time-gun  it  was  Auld 
Jock's  custom  to  go  up  to  a  snug  little  restaurant 
that  was  patronized  chiefly  by  the  decent  poor--* 
small  shopkeepers,  clerks,  tenant  farmers,  and 
medical  students  living  in  cheap  lodgings — in 
Greyfriars  Place.  There,  in  Ye  Olde  Greyfriars 
2  5 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

Dining-Rooms,  owned  by  Mr.  John  Traill,  and 
four  doors  beyond  the  kirkyard  gate,  was  a  cozy 
little  inglenook  that  Auld  Jock  and  Bobby  had 
come  to  look  upon  as  their  own.  At  its  back, 
above  a  recessed  oaken  settle  and  a  table,  a  tiny- 
paned  window  looked  up  and  over  a  retaining 
wall  into  the  ancient  place  of  the  dead. 

The  view  of  the  heaped-up  and  crowded 
mounds  and  thickets  of  old  slabs  and  through- 
stones,  girt  all  about  by  time-stained  monuments 
and  vaults,  and  shut  in  on  the  north  and  east  by 
the  backs  of  shops  and  lofty  slum  tenements, 
could  not  be  said  to  be  cheerful.  It  suited  Auld 
Jock,  however,  for  what  mind  he  had  was  of  a 
melancholy  turn.  From  his  place  on  the  floor, 
between  his  master's  hob-nailed  boots,  Bobby 
could  not  see  the  kirkyard,  but  it  would  not,  in 
any  case,  have  depressed  his  spirits.  He  did  not 
know  the  face  of  death  and,  a  merry  little  ruf- 
fian of  a  terrier,  he  was  ready  for  any  adventure. 

On  the  stone  gate  pillar  was  a  notice  in  plain 
English  that  no  dogs  were  permitted  in  Grey- 
friars.  As  well  as  if  he  could  read,  Bobby  knew 
that  the  kirkyard  was  forbidden  ground.  He 
had  learned  that  by  bitter  experience.  Once, 
when  the  little  wicket  gate  that  held  the  two 
tall  leaves  ajar  by  day,  chanced  to  be  open,  he  had 
joyously  chased  a  cat  across  the  graves  and  over 

6 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

the  western  wall  onto  the  broad  green  lawn  of 
Heriot's  Hospital. 

There  the  little  dog's  escapade  bred  other  mis- 
chief, for  Heriot's  Hospital  was  not  a  hospital  at 
all,  in  the  modern  English  sense  of  being  a  refuge 
for  the  sick.  Built  and  christened  in  a  day  when 
a  Stuart  king  reigned  in  Holyrood  Palace,  and 
French  was  spoken  in  the  Scottish  court,  Heriot's 
was  a  splendid  pile  of  a  charity  school,  all  towers 
and  battlements,  and  cheerful  color,  and  count- 
less beautiful  windows.  Endowed  by  a  beruffed 
and  doubleted  goldsmith,  "Jinglin'  Geordie" 
Heriot,  who  had  "nae  braw  laddie  o'  his  ain,"  it 
was  devoted  to  the  care  and  education  of  "puir 
orphan  an'  faderless  boys."  There  it  had  stood 
for  more  than  two  centuries,  in  a  spacious  park, 
like  the  country-seat  of  a  Lowland  laird,  but 
hemmed  in  by  sordid  markets  and  swarming 
slums.  The  region  round  about  furnished  an 
unfailing  supply  of  "puir  orphan  an'  faderless 
boys"  who  were  as  light-hearted  and  irrespon- 
sible as  Bobby. 

Hundreds  of  the  Heriot  laddies  were  out  in  the 
noon  recess,  playing  cricket  and  leap-frog,  when 
Bobby  chased  that  unlucky  cat  over  the  kirk- 
yard  wall.  He  could  go  no  farther  himself,  but 
the  laddies  took  up  the  pursuit,  yelling  like 
Highland  clans  of  old  in  a  foray  across  the  border. 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

The  unholy  din  disturbed  the  sacred  peace  of  tht 
kirkyard.  Bobby  dashed  back,  barking  furi- 
ously, in  pure  exuberance  of  spirits.  He  tumbled 
gaily  over  grassy  hummocks,  frisked  saucily 
around  terrifying  old  mausoleums,  wriggled  un- 
der the  most  enticing  of  low-set  table  tombs  and 
sprawled,  exhausted,  but  still  happy  and  noisy, 
at  Auld  Jock's  feet. 

It  was  a  scandalous  thing  to  happen  in  any 
kirkyard!  The  angry  caretaker  was  instantly 
out  of  his  little  stone  lodge  by  the  gate  and  taking 
Auld  Jock  sharply  to  task  for  Bobby's  mis- 
behavior. The  pious  old  shepherd,  shocked  him* 
self  and  publicly  disgraced,  stood,  bonnet  in  hand, 
humbly  apologetic.  Seeing  that  his  master  was 
getting  the  worst  of  it,  Bobby  rushed  into  the 
fray,  an  animated  little  muff  of  pluck  and  fury, 
and  nipped  the  caretaker's  shins.  There  was  a 
howl  of  pain,  and  a  "maist  michty"  word  that 
made  the  ancient  tombs  stand  aghast.  Master 
and  dog  were  hustled  outside  the  gate  and  into  a 
rabble  of  jeering  slum  gamins. 

What  a  to-do  about  a  miserable  cat!  To 
Bobby  there  was  no  logic  at  all  in  the  denouement 
to  this  swift,  exciting  drama.  But  he  understood 
Auld  Jock's  shame  and  displeasure  perfectly. 
Good-tempered  as  he  was  gay  and  clever,  the 
little  dog  took  his  punishment  meekly,  and  he 

8 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

remembered  it.  Thereafter,  he  passed  the  kirk- 
yard  gate  decorously.  If  he  saw  a  cat  that 
needed  harrying  he  merely  licked  his  little  red 
chops — the  outward  sign  of  a  desperate  self- 
control.  And,  a  true  sport,  he  bore  no  malice 
toward  the  caretaker. 

During  that  first  summer  of  his  life  Bobby 
learned  many  things.  He  learned  that  he  might 
chase  rabbits,  squirrels  and  moor-fowl,  and  sea- 
gulls and  whaups  that  came  up  to  feed  in  plowed 
fields.  Rats  and  mice  around  byre  and  dairy 
were  legitimate  prey;  but  he  learned  that  he 
must  not  annoy  sheep  and  sheep-dogs,  nor  cattle, 
horses  and  chickens.  And  he  discovered  that, 
unless  he  hung  close  to  Auld  Jock's  heels,  his 
freedom  was  in  danger  from  a  wee  lassie  who 
adored  him.  He  was  no  lady's  lap-dog.  From 
the  bairnie's  soft  cosseting  he  aye  fled  to  Auld 
Jock  and  the  rough  hospitality  of  the  sheep- 
fold.  Being  exact  opposites  in  temperaments, 
but  alike  in  tastes,  Bobby  and  Auld  Jock  were 
inseparable.  In  the  quiet  corner  of  Mr.  Traill's 
crowded  dining-room  they  spent  the  one  idle  hour 
of  the  week  together,  happily.  Bobby  had  the 
leavings  of  a  herring  or  haddie,  for  a  rough  little 
Skye  will  eat  anything  from  smoked  fish  to 
moor-fowl  eggs,  and  he  had  the  tidbit  of  a  farthing 
bone  to  worry  at  his  leisure.  Auld  Jock  smoked 

9 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

his  cutty  pipe,  gazed  at  the  fire  or  into  the  kirk* 
yard,  and  meditated  on  nothing  in  particular. 

In  some  strange  way  that  no  dog  could  under- 
stand, Bobby  had  been  separated  from  Auld 
Jock  that  November  morning.  The  tenant  of 
Cauldbrae  farm  had  driven  the  cart  in,  himself, 
and  that  was  unusual.  Immediately  he  had 
driven  out  again,  leaving  Auld  Jock  behind,  and 
that  was  quite  outside  Bobby's  brief  experience 
of  life .  Beguiled  to  the  lofty  and  coveted  driver's 
seat  where,  with  lolling  tongue,  he  could  view 
this  interesting  world  between  the  horse's  ears, 
Bobby  had  been  spirited  out  of  the  city  and 
carried  all  the  way  down  and  up  to  the  hill- 
top toll-bar  of  Fairmilehead.  It  could  not  occur 
to  his  loyal  little  heart  that  this  treachery  was 
planned  nor,  stanch  little  democrat  that  he  was, 
that  the  farmer  was  really  his  owner,  and  that  he 
could  not  follow  a  humbler  master  of  his  own 
choosing.  He  might  have  been  carried  to  the 
distant  farm,  and  shut  safely  in  the  byre  with 
the  cows  for  the  night,  but  for  an  incautious 
remark  of  the  fanner.  With  the  first  scent  of 
the  native  heather  the  horse  quickened  his  pace, 
and,  at  sight  of  the  purple  slopes  of  the  Pentlands 
looming  homeward,  a  fond  thought  at  the  back 
of  the  man's  mind  very  naturally  took  shape  in 
speech. 

10 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

"Eh,  Bobby;  the  wee  lassie  wull  be  at  the  tap 
o*  the  brae  to  race  ye  hame." 

Bobby  pricked  his  drop  ears.  Within  a  narrow 
limit,  and  concerning  familiar  things,  the  under- 
standing of  human  speech  by  these  intelligent 
little  terriers  is  very  truly  remarkable.  At  men- 
tion of  the  wee  lassie  he  looked  behind  for  his 
rough  old  friend  and  unfailing  refuge.  Auld 
Jock's  absence  discovered,  Bobby  promptly 
dropped  from  the  seat  of  honor  and  from  the  cart 
tail,  sniffed  the  smoke  of  Edinboro'  town  and 
faced  right  about.  To  the  farmer's  peremptory 
call  he  returned  the  spicy  repartee  of  a  cheerful 
bark.  It  was  as  much  as  to  say: 

"Dinna  fash  yersel' !    I  ken  what  I'm  aboot." 

After  an  hour's  hard  run  back  over  the  dipping 
and  rising  country  road  and  a  long  quarter- 
circuit  of  the  city,  Bobby  found  the  high- walled, 
winding  way  into  the  west  end  of  the  Grassmarket. 
To  a  human  being  afoot  there  was  a  shorter  cut, 
but  the  little  dog  could  only  retrace  the  familiar 
route  of  the  farm  carts.  It  was  a  notable  feat 
for  a  small  creature  whose  tufted  legs  were  not 
more  than  six  inches  in  length,  whose  thatch  of 
long  hair  almost  swept  the  roadway  and  caught 
at  every  burr  and  bramble,  and  who  was  still  so 
young  that  his  nose  could  not  be  said  to  be 
educated. 

if 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

In  the  market-place  he  ran  here  and  there 
through  the  crowd,  hopefully  investigating  nar- 
row closes  that  were  mere  rifts  in  precipices  of 
buildings;  nosing  outside  stairs,  doorways,  sta- 
bles, bridge  arches,  standing  carts,  and  even 
hob-nailed  boots.  He  yelped  at  the  crash  of  the 
gun,  but  it  was  another  matter  altogether  that 
set  his  little  heart  to  palpitating  with  alarm.  It 
was  the  dinner-hour,  and  where  was  Auld  Jock  ? 

Ah !  A  happy  thought :  his  master  had  gone  to 
dinner ! 

A  human  friend  would  have  resented  the  idea 
of  such  base  desertion  and  sulked.  But  in  a 
little  dog's  heart  of  trust  there  is  no  room  for 
suspicion.  The  thought  simply  lent  wings  to 
Bobby's  tired  feet.  As  the  market-place  emp- 
tied he  chased  at  the  heels  of  laggards,  up  the 
crescent-shaped  rise  of  Candlemakers  Row,  and 
straight  on  to  the  familiar  dining-rooms.  Through 
the  forest  of  table  and  chair  and  human  legs  he 
made  his  way  to  the  back,  to  find  a  soldier  from 
the  Castle,  in  smart  red  coat  and  polished  boots, 
lounging  in  Auld  Jock's  inglenook. 

Bobby  stood  stock  still  for  a  shocked  instant. 
Then  he  howled  dismally  and  bolted  for  the  door. 
Mr.  John  Traill,  the  smooth-shaven,  hatchet- 
faced  proprietor,  standing  midway  in  shirt- 
sleeves and  white  apron,  caught  the  flying  terrier 

12 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

between  his  legs  and  gave  him  a  friendly  clap  on 
the  side. 

' '  Did  you  come  by  your  ainsel'  with  a  farthing 
in  your  silky-purse  ear  to  buy  a  bone,  Bobby? 
Whaur's  Auld  Jock?" 

A  fear  may  be  crowded  back  into  the  mind 
and  stoutly  denied  so  long  as  it  is  not  named.  At 
the  good  landlord's  very  natural  question: 
"Whaur's  Auld  Jock?"  there  was  the  shape  of 
the  little  dog's  fear  that  he  had  lost  his  master. 
With  a  whimpering  cry  he  struggled  free.  Out 
of  the  door  he  went,  like  a  shot.  He  tumbled 
down  the  steep  curve  and  doubled  on  his  tracks 
around  the  market-place. 

At  his  onslaught,  the  sparrows  rose  like  brown 
leaves  on  a  gust  of  wind,  and  drifted  down  again. 
A  cold  mist  veiled  the  Castle  heights.  From  the 
stone  crown  of  the  ancient  Cathedral  of  St.  Giles, 
on  High  Street,  floated  the  melody  of  "The  Blue- 
bells of  Scotland."  No  day  was  too  bleak  for 
bell-ringer  McLeod  to  climb  the  shaking  ladder 
In  the  windy  tower  and  play  the  music  bells 
during  the  hour  that  Edinburgh  dined.  Bobby 
forgot  to  dine  that  day,  first  in  his  distracted 
search,  and  then  in  his  joy  of  finding  his  master. 

For,  all  at  once,  in  the  very  strangest  place,  in 
the  very  strangest  way,  Bobby  came  upon  Auld 
'Cock.  A  rat.  scurrying  out  from  a  foul  and  nar- 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

row  passage  that  gave  to  the  rear  of  the  White 
Hart  Inn,  pointed  the  little  dog  to  a  nook  hitherto 
undiscovered  by  his  curious  nose.  Hidden  away 
between  the  noisy  tavern  and  the  grim,  island 
crag  was  the  old  cock-fighting  pit  of  a  ruder  day. 
There,  in  a  broken-down  carrier's  cart,  abandoned 
among  the  nameless  abominations  of  public- 
house  refuse,  Auld  Jock  lay  huddled  in  his  great- 
coat of  hodden  gray  and  his  shepherd's  plaid. 
On  a  bundle  of  clothing  tied  in  a  tartan  ker- 
chief for  a  pillow,  he  lay  very  still  and  breathing 
heavily. 

Bobby  barked  as  if  he  would  burst  his  lungs. 
He  barked  so  long,  so  loud,  and  so  furiously, 
running  'round  and  'round  the  cart  and  under  it 
and  yelping  at  every  turn,  that  a  slatternly 
scullery  maid  opened  a  door  and  angrily  bade 
him  "no'  to  deave  folk  wi'  'is  blatterin'."  Auld 
Jock  she  did  not  see  at  all  in  the  murky  pit  or, 
if  she  saw  him,  thought  him  some  drunken  foreign 
sailor  from  Leith  harbor.  When  she  went  in,  she 
slammed  the  door  and  lighted  the  gas. 

Whether  from  some  instinct  of  protection  of 
his  helpless  master  in  that  foul  and  hostile  place, 
or  because  barking  had  proved  to  be  of  no  use,, 
Bobby  sat  back  on  his  haunches  and  considered 
this  strange,  disquieting  thing.  It  was  not  like 
Auld  Jock  to  sleep  in  the  daytime,  or  so  soundly, 

M 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

at  any  time,  that  barking  would  not  awaken  him. 
A  clever  and  resourceful  dog,  Bobby  crouched 
back  against  the  farthest  wall,  took  a  running 
leap  to  the  top  of  the  low  boots,  dug  his  claws 
into  the  stout,  home-knitted  stockings,  and 
scrambled  up  over  Auld  Jock's  legs  into  the  cart. 
In  an  instant  he  poked  his  little  black  mop  of  a 
wet  muzzle  into  his  master's  face  and  barked 
once,  sharply,  in  his  ear. 

To  Bobby's  delight  Auld  Jock  sat  up  and 
blinked  his  eyes.  The  old  eyes  were  brighter, 
the  grizzled  face  redder  than  was  natural,  but 
such  matters  were  quite  outside  of  the  little  dog's 
ken.  It  was  a  dazed  moment  before  the  man  re- 
membered that  Bobby  should  not  be  there.  He 
frowned  down  at  the  excited  little  creature,  who 
was  wagging  satisfaction  from  his  nose-tip  to  the 
end  of  his  crested  tail,  in  a  puzzled  effort  to 
remember  why. 

"Eh,  Bobby!"  His  tone  was  one  of  vague 
reproof.  "Nae  doot  ye're  fair  satisfied  wi'  yer 
ainsel'." 

Bobby's  feathered  tail  drooped,  but  it  still 
quivered,  all  ready  to  wag  again  at  the  slightest 
encouragement.  Auld  Jock  stared  at  him  stu- 
pidly, his  dizzy  head  in  his  hands.  A  very  tired, 
very  draggled  little  dog,  Bobby  dropped  beside 
his  master,  panting,  subdued  by  the  reproach, 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

but  happy.  His  soft  eyes,  veiled  by  the  silver^ 
fringe  that  fell  from  his  high  forehead,  were  deep- 
brown  pools  of  affection.  Auld  Jock  forgot,  by 
and  by,  that  Bobby  should  not  be  there,  and  felt 
only  the  comfort  of  his  companionship. 

"Weel,  Bobby,"  he  began  again,  uncertainly. 
And  then,  because  his  Scotch  peasant  reticence 
had  been  quite  broken  down  by  Bobby's  shame- 
less devotion,  so  that  he  told  the  little  dog  many 
things  that  he  cannily  concealed  from  human 
kind,  he  confided  the  strange  weakness  and  dizzi- 
ness in  the  head  that  had  overtaken  him:  "Auld 
Jock  is  juist  fair  silly  the  day,  bonny  wee 
laddie." 

Down  came  a  shaking,  hot  old  hand  in  a  rough 
caress,  and  up  a  gallant  young  tail  to  wave  like 
a  banner.  All  was  right  with  the  little  dog's 
world  again.  But  it  was  plain,  even  to  Bobby, 
that  something  had  gone  wrong  with  Auld  Jock. 
It  was  the  man  who  wore  the  air  of  a  culprit. 
A  Scotch  laborer  does  not  lightly  confess  to  feel- 
ing "fair  silly,"  nor  sleep  away  the  busy  hours  of 
daylight.  The  old  man  was  puzzled  and  humil- 
iated by  this  discreditable  thing.  A  human 
friend  would  have  understood  his  plight,  led  the 
fevered  man  out  of  that  bleak  and  fetid  cul-de- 
sac,  tucked  him  into  a  warm  bed,  comforted  him 
with  a  hot  drink,  and  then  gone  swiftly  for 

16 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

skilled  help.     Bobby  knew  only  that  his  master 
had  unusual  need  of  love. 

Very,  very  early  a  dog  learns  that  life  is  not  as 
simple  a  matter  to  his  master  as  it  is  to  himself. 
There  are  times  when  he  reads  trouble,  that  he 
cannot  help  or  understand,  in  the  man's  eye  and 
voice.  Then  he  can  only  look  his  love  and 
loyalty,  wistfully,  as  if  he  felt  his  own  short- 
coming in  the  matter  of  speech.  And  if  the 
trouble  is  so  great  that  the  master  forgets  to  eat 
his  dinner ;  forgets,  also,  the  needs  of  his  faithful 
little  friend,  it  is  the  dog's  dear  privilege  to  bear 
neglect  and  hunger  without  complaint.  There- 
fore, when  Auld  Jock  lay  down  again  and  sank, 
almost  at  once,  into  sodden  sleep,  Bobby  snug- 
gled in  the  hollow  of  his  master's  arm  and 
nuzzled  his  nose  in  his  master's  neck. 


II 

WHILE  the  bells  played  " There  Grows  a 
Bonny  Briarbush  in  Our  Kale  Yard"  Auld 
Jock  and  Bobby  slept.  They  slept  while  the 
tavern  emptied  itself  of  noisy  guests  and  clatter- 
ing crockery  was  washed  at  the  dingy,  gas-lighted 
windows  that  overlooked  the  cockpit.  They 
slept  while  the  cold  fell  with  the  falling  day  and 
the  mist  was  whipped  into  driving  rain.  Almost 
a  cave,  between  shelving  rock  and  house  wall,  a 
gust  of  wind  still  found  its  way  in  now  and  then. 
At  a  splash  of  rain  Auld  Jock  stirred  uneasily  in 
his  sleep.  Bobby  merely  sniffed  the  freshened 
air  with  pleasure  and  curled  himself  up  for  an- 
other nap. 

No  rain  could  wet  Bobby.  Under  his  rough 
outer  coat,  that  was  parted  along  the  back  as 
neatly  as  the  thatch  along  a  cottage  ridge-pole, 
was  a  dense,  woolly  fleece  that  defied  wind  and 
rain,  snow  and  sleet  to  penetrate.  He  could  not 
know  that  nature  had  not  been  as  generous  in 
protecting  his  master  against  the  weather.  Al- 
though of  a  subarctic  breed,  fitted  to  live  shelter- 

18 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

less  if  need  be,  and  to  earn  his  living  by  native 
wit,  Bobby  had  the  beauty,  the  grace,  and  the 
charming  manners  of  a  lady's  pet.  In  a  litter 
of  prick-eared,  wire-haired  puppies  Bobby  was 
a  "sport." 

It  is  said  that  some  of  the  ships  of  the  Spanish 
Armada,  with  French  poodles  in  the  officers' 
cabins,  were  blown  far  north  and  west,  and 
broken  up  on  the  icy  coasts  of  The  Hebrides  and 
Skye.  Some  such  crossing  of  his  far-away  an- 
cestry, it  would  seem,  had  given  a  greater  length 
and  a  crisp  wave  to  Bobby's  outer  coat,  dropped 
and  silkily  fringed  his  ears,  and  powdered  his  use- 
ful, slate-gray  color  with  silver  frost.  But  he 
had  the  hardiness  and  intelligence  of  the  sturdier 
breed,  a.nd  the  instinct  of  devotion  to  the  working 
master.  So  he  had  turned  from  a  soft-hearted 
bit  lassie  of  a  mistress,  and  the  cozy  chimney- 
corner  of  the  farm-house  kitchen,  and  linked  his 
fortunes  with  this  forlorn  old  laborer. 

A  grizzled,  gnarled  little  man  was  Auld  Jock,  of 
tough  fiber,  but  worn  out  at  last  by  fifty  winters 
as  a  shepherd  on  the  bleak  hills  of  Midlothian 
and  Fife,  and  a  dozen  more  in  the  low  stables  and 
storm-buffeted  garrets  of  Edinburgh.  He  had 
come  into  the  world  unnoted  in  a  shepherd's 
lonely  cot.  With  little  wit  of  mind  or  skill  of 
hand  he  had  been  a  common  tool,  used  by  this 

19 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

master  and  that  for  the  roughest  tasks,  when 
needed,  put  aside,  passed  on,  and  dropped  out  of 
mind.  Nothing  ever  belonged  to  the  man  but 
his  scant  earnings.  Wifeless,  cotless,  bairnless, 
he  had  slept,  since  early  boyhood,  under  strange 
roofs,  eaten  the  bread  of  the  hireling,  and  sat 
dumb  at  other  men's  firesides.  If  he  had  an- 
other name  it  had  been  forgotten.  In  youth  he 
was  Jock;  in  age,  Auld  Jock. 

In  his  sixty-third  summer  there  was  a  belated 
blooming  in  Auld  Jock's  soul.  Out  of  some 
miraculous  caprice  Bobby  lavished  on  him  a 
riotous  affection.  Then  up  out  of  the  man's  sub- 
conscious memory  came  words  learned  from  the 
lips  of  a  long-forgotten  mother.  They  were 
words  not  meant  for  little  dogs  at  all,  mt  for 
sweetheart,  wife  and  bairn.  Auld  Jock  used 
them  cautiously,  fearing  to  be  overheard,  for  the 
matter  was  a  subject  of  wonder  and  rough  jest 
at  the  farm.  He  used  them  when  Bobby  fol- 
lowed him  at  the  plow-tail  or  scampered  over  the 
heather  with  him  behind  the  flocks.  He  used 
them  on  the  market-day  journeyings,  and  on 
summer  nights,  when  the  sea  wind  came  sweetly 
from  the  broad  Firth  and  the  two  slept,  like 
-agabonds,  on  a  haycock  under  the  stars.  The 
purest  pleasure  Auld  Jock  ever  knew  was  the 
taking  of  a  bright  farthing  from  his  pocket  ^ 

20 


GREYFRIARS   BOBBY 

pay  for  Bobby's  delectable  bone  in  Mr.  TraiU's 
place. 

Given  what  was  due  him  that  morning  and 
dismissed  for  the  season  to  find  such  work  as  he 
could  in  the  city,  Auld  Jock  did  not  question  the 
farmer's  right  to  take  Bobby  "back  hame." 
Besides,  what  could  he  do  with  the  noisy  little 
rascal  in  ar  Edinburgh  lodging  ?  But,  duller  of 
wit  than  u^aal,  feeling  very  old  and  lonely,  and 
shaky  on  his  legs,  and  dizzy  in  his  head,  Auld 
Jock  parted  wf.th  Bobby  and  with  his  courage, 
together.  With  the  instinct  of  the  dumb  animal 
that  suffers,  he  stumbled  into  the  foul  nook  and 
fell,  almost  at  once,  into  a  heavy  sleep.  Out  of 
that  Bobby  roused  him  but  briefly. 

Long  before  his  master  awoke,  Bobby  finished 
his  series  of  refreshing  little  naps,  sat  up,  yawned, 
stretched  his  short,  shaggy  legs,  sniffed  at  Auld 
Jock  experimentally,  and  trotted  around  the  bed 
of  the  cart  on  a  tour  of  investigation.  This 
proving  to  be  of  small  interest  and  no  profit,  he 
lay  down  again  beside  his  master,  nose  on  paws, 
and  waited  Auld  Jock's  pleasure  patiently.  A 
sweep  of  drenching  rain  brought  the  old  man 
suddenly  to  his  feet  and  stumbling  into  the 
market-place.  The  alert  little  dog  tumbled 
about  him,  barking  ecstatically.  The  fever  was 
gone  and  Auld  Jock's  head  quite  clear;  but  in  its 

3  21 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

place  was  a  weakness,  an  aching  of  the  limbs,  a 
weight  on  the  chest,  and  a  great  shivering. 

Although  the  bell  of  St.  Giles  was  just  striking 
the  hour  of  five,  it  was  already  entirely  dark.  A 
lamp-lighter,  with  ladder  and  torch,  was  setting  a 
double  line  of  gas-jets  to  flaring  along  the  lofty 
parapets  of  the  bridge.  If  the  Grassmarket  was 
a  quarry  pit  by  day,  on  a  night  of  storm  it  was  the 
bottom  of  a  reservoir.  The  height  «/  the  walls 
was  marked  by  a  luminous  crown  from  many 
Hghts  above  the  Castle  head,  and  by  a  student's 
dim  candle,  here  and  there,  at  a  garret  window. 
The  huge  bulk  of  the  bridge  cast  a  shadow,  velvet 
black,  across  the  eastern  half  of  the  market. 

Had  not  Bobby  gone  before  and  barked,  and  run 
back,  again  and  again,  and  jumped  up  on  Auld 
Jock's  legs,  the  man  might  never  have  won  his 
way  across  the  drowned  place,  in  the  inky  black- 
ness and  against  the  slanted  blast  of  icy  rain. 
When  he  gained  the  foot  of  Candlemakers  Row, 
a  crescent  of  tall,  old  houses  that  curved  upward 
around  the  lower  end  of  Greyfriars  kirkyard, 
water  poured  upon  him  from  the  heavy  timbered 
gallery  of  the  Cunzie  Neuk,  once  the  royal  mint. 
The  carting  office  that  occupied  the  street  floor 
was  closed,  or  Auld  Jock  would  have  sought 
shelter  there.  He  struggled  up  the  rise,  made 
slippery  by  rain  and  grime.  Then,  as  the  street 

22 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

turned  southward  in  its  easy  curve,  there  was 
some  shelter  from  the  house  walls.  But  Auld 
Jock  was  quite  exhausted  and  incapable  of  car- 
ing for  himself.  In  the  ancient  guildhall  of  the 
candlemakers,  at  the  top  of  the  Row,  was  an- 
other carting  office  and  Harrow  Inn,  a  resort  of 
country  carriers.  The  man  would  have  gone  in 
there  where  he  was  quite  unknown  or,  indeed,  he 
might  even  have  lain  down  in  the  bleak  court 
that  gave  access  to  the  tenements  above,  but  for 
Bobby's  persistent  and  cheerful  barking,  begging 
and  nipping. 

"Maister,  maister!"  he  said,  as  plainly  as  a 
little  dog  could  speak,  "dinna  bide  here.  It's 
juist  a  stap  or  twa  to  food  an'  fire  i'  the  cozy 
auld  ingleneuk." 

And  then,  the  level  roadway  won  at  last,  there 
was  the  railing  of  tiie  bridge-approach  to  cling 
to,  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  upright  bars  of  the 
kirkyard  gate  on  the  other.  By  the  help  of  these 
and  the  urging  of  wee  Bobby,  Auld  Jock  came 
the  short,  steep  way  up  out  of  the  market,  to  the 
row  of  lighted  shops  in  Greyfriars  Place. 

With  the  wind  at  the  back  and  above  the 
housetops,  Mr.  Traill  stood  bare-headed  in  a  dry 
haven  of  peace  in  his  doorway,  firelight  behind 
him,  and  welcome  in  his  shrewd  gray  eyes.  If 
Auld  Jock  had  shown  any  intention  of  going  by. 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

it  is  not  impossible  that  the  landlord  of  Ye  Olde 
Greyfriars  Dining-Rooms  might  have  dragged 
him  in  bodily.  The  storm  had  driven  all  his 
customers  home.  For  an  hour  there  had  not 
been  a  soul  in  the  place  to  speak  to,  and  it  was  so 
entirely  necessary  for  John  Traill  to  hear  his  own 
voice  that  he  had  been  known,  in  such  straits,  to 
talk  to  himself.  Auld  Jock  was  not  an  inspiring 
auditor,  but  a  deal  better  than  naething;  and,  if 
he  proved  hopeless,  entertainment  was  to  be 
found  in  Bobby.  So  Mr.  Traill  bustled  in  before 
his  guests,  poked  the  open  fire  into  leaping 
flames,  and  heaped  it  up  skilfully  at  the  back  with 
fresh  coals.  The  good  landlord  turned  from  his 
hospitable  task  to  find  Auld  Jock  streaming  and 
shaking  on  the  hearth. 

"Man,  but  you're  wet!"  he  exclaimed.  He 
hustled  the  old  shepherd  out  of  his  dripping 
plaid  and  greatcoat  and  spread  them  to  the 
blaze.  Auld  Jock  found  a  dry,  knitted  Tam-o'- 
Shanter  bonnet  in  his  little  bundle  and  set  it  on 
his  head.  It  was  a  moment  or  two  before  he 
could  speak  without  the  humiliating  betrayal  of 
chattering  teeth. 

"Ay,  it's  a  misty  nicht,"  he  admitted,  with 
caution. 

"Misty!  Man,  it's  raining  like  all  the  seven 
deils  were  abroad. ' '  Having  delivered  himself  of 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

this  violent  opinion,  Mr.  Traill  fell  into  his  usual 
philosophic  vein.  "I  have  sma'  patience  with 
the  Scotch  way  of  making  little  of  everything. 
If  Noah  had  been  a  Lowland  Scot  he'd  'a'  said 
the  deluge  was  'juist  fair  wat.'" 

He  laughed  at  his  own  wit,  his  thin-featured 
face  and  keen  gray  eyes  lighting  up  to  a  kindli- 
ness that  his  brusque  speech  denied  in  vain.  He 
had  a  fluency  of  good  English  at  command  that 
he  would  have  thought  ostentatious  to  use  in 
speaking  with  a  simple  country  body. 

Auld  Jock  stared  at  Mr.  Traill  and  pondered 
the  matter.  By  and  by  he  asked:  "Wasna  the 
deluge  fair  wat?" 

The  landlord  sighed  but,  brought  to  book  like 
that,  admitted  that  it  was.  Conversation  flagged, 
however,  while  he  busied  himself  with  toasting  a 
smoked  herring,  and  dragging  roasted  potatoes 
from  the  little  iron  oven  that  was  fitted  into  the 
brickwork  of  the  fireplace  beside  the  grate. 

Bobby  was  attending  to  his  own  entertainment. 
The  familiar  place  wore  a  new  and  enchanting 
aspect,  and  needed  instant  exploration.  By  day 
it  was  fitted  with  tables,  picketed  by  chairs  and 
all  manner  of  boots.  Noisy  and  crowded,  a  little 
dog  that  wandered  about  there  was  liable  to  be 
trodden  upon.  On  that  night  of  storm  it  was  a 
vast,  bright  place,  so  silent  one  could  hear  the 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

ticking  of  the  wag-at-the-wa'  clock,  the  crisp 
crackling  of  the  flames,  and  the  snapping  of  the 
coals.  The  uncovered  deal  tables  were  set  back 
in  a  double  line  along  one  wall,  with  the  chairs 
piled  on  top,  leaving  a  wide  passage  of  freshly 
scrubbed  and  sanded  oaken  floor  from  the  door 
to  the  fireplace.  Firelight  danced  on  the  dark 
old  wainscoting  and  high,  carved  overmantel, 
winked  on  rows  of  drinking-mugs  and  metal 
covers  over  cold  meats  on  the  buffet,  and  even 
picked  out  the  gilt  titles  on  the  backs  of  a  shelf 
of  books  in  Mr.  Traill's  private  corner  behind  the 
bar. 

Bobby  shook  himself  on  the  hearth  to  free  his 
rain-coat  of  surplus  water.  To  the  landlord's 
dry  "We're  no'  needing  a  shower  in  the  house. 
Lie  down,  Bobby,"  he  wagged  his  tail  politely,  as 
a  sign  that  he  heard.  But,  as  Auld  Jock  did  not 
repeat  the  order,  he  ignored  it  and  scampered 
busily  about  the  room,  leaving  little  trails  of  wet 
behind  him. 

This  grill-room  of  Traill's  place  was  more  like 
the  parlor  of  a  country  inn,  or  a  farm-house 
kitchen  if  there  had  been  a  built-in  bed  or  two, 
than  a  restaurant  in  the  city.  There,  a  humble 
man  might  see  his  herring  toasted,  his  bannocks 
baked  on  the  oven-top,  or  his  tea  brewed  to  his 
liking.  On  such  a  night  as  this  the  landlord 

26 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

would  pull  the  settle  out  of  the  inglenook  to  the 
hearth,  set  before  the  solitary  guest  a  small 
table,  and  keep  the  kettle  on  the  hob. 

"  Spread  yoursel'  on  both  sides  o'  the  fire,  man. 
There'll  be  nane  to  keep  us  company,  I'm 
thinking.  Ilka  man  that  has  a  roof  o'  his  ain  will 
be  wearing  it  for  a  bonnet  the  nicht." 

As  there  was  no  answer  to  this,  the  skilled  con- 
versational angler  dropped  a  bit  of  bait  that  the 
wariest  man  must  rise  to. 

"That's  a  vera  intelligent  bit  dog,  Auld  Jock. 
He  was  here  with  the  time-gun  spiering  for  you. 
When  he  didna  find  you  he  greeted  like  a  bairn." 

Auld  Jock,  huddled  in  the  corner  of  the  settle, 
so  near  the  fire  that  his  jacket  smoked,  took  so 
long  a  time  to  find  an  answer  that  Mr.  Traill 
looked  at  him  keenly  as  he  set  the  wooden  plate 
and  pewter  mug  on  the  table. 

"Man,  you're  vera  ill,"  he  cried,  sharply.  In 
truth  he  was  shocked  and  self -accusing  because 
he  had  not  observed  Auld  Jock's  condition  before. 

"I'm  no*  so  awfu'  ill,"  came  back  in  irritated 
denial,  as  if  he  had  been  accused  of  some  mis- 
behavior. 

"Weel,  it's  no*  a  dry  herrin'  ye'll  hae  in  my 
shop  the  nicht.  It's  a  hot  mutton  broo  wi' 
porridge  in  it,  an*  bits  o'  meat  to  tak'  the  cauld 
oot  o'  yer  auld  banes." 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

And  there,  the  plate  was  whisked  away,  and 
the  cover  lifted  from  a  bubbling  pot,  and  the 
kettle  was  over  the  fire  for  the  brewing  of  tea. 
At  a  peremptory  order  the  soaked  boots  and 
stockings  were  off,  and  dry  socks  found  in  the 
kerchief  bundle.  Auld  Jock  was  used  to  taking 
orders  from  his  superiors,  and  offered  no  resist- 
ance to  being  hustled  after  this  manner  into 
warmth  and  good  cheer.  Besides,  who  could 
have  withstood  that  flood  of  homely  speech  on 
which  the  good  landlord  came  right  down  to  the 
old  shepherd's  humble  level  ?  Such  warm  feeling 
was  established  that  Mr.  Traill  quite  forgot  his 
usual  caution  and  certain  well-known  prejudices 
of  old  country  bodies. 

"Noo,"  he  said  cheerfully,  as  he  set  the  hot 
broth  on  the  table,  "ye  maun  juist  hae  a  doctor." 

A  doctor  is  the  last  resort  of  the  unlettered 
poor.  The  very  threat  of  one  to  the  Scotch 
peasant  of  a  half -century  ago  was  a  sentence  of 
death.  Auld  Jock  blanched,  and  he  shook  so 
that  he  dropped  his  spoon.  Mr.  Traill  hastened 
to  undo  the  mischief. 

"It's  no'  a  doctor  yell  be  needing,  ava,  but 
a  bit  dose  o'  physic  an'  a  bed  in  the  infirmary 
a  day  or  twa." 

"I  wullna  gang  to  the  infairmary.  It's  juist 
for  puir  toon  bodies  that  are  aye  ailin'  an*  deein  V 

28 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

Fright  and  resentment  lent  the  silent  old  man 
an  astonishing  eloquence  for  the  moment.  "Ye 
wadna  gang  to  the  infairmary  yer  ainsel',  an1 
tak'  charity." 

"Would  I  no'?  I  would  go  if  I  so  much  as 
cut  my  sma'  finger;  and  I  would  let  a  student 
laddie  bind  it  up  for  me." 

"  Weel,  ye're  a  saft  ane,"  said  Auld  Jock. 

It  was  a  terrible  word— "saft!"  John  Traill 
flushed  darkly,  and  relapsed  into  discouraged 
silence.  Deep  down  in  his  heart  he  knew  that 
a  regiment  of  soldiers  from  the  Castle  could  not 
take  him  alive,  a  free  patient,  into  the  infirmary. 
But  what  was  one  to  do  but  "lee,"  right  heartily, 
for  the  good  of  this  very  sick,  very  poor,  home- 
less old  man  on  a  night  of  pitiless  storm  ?  That 
he  had  "lee'd"  to  no  purpose  and  got  a  "saft" 
name  for  it  was  a  blow  to  his  pride. 

Hearing  the  clatter  of  fork  and  spoon,  Bdbby 
trotted  from  behind  the  bar  and  saved  the  day 
of  discomfiture.  Time  for  dinner,  indeed!  Up 
he  came  on  his  hind  legs  and  politely  begged  his 
master  for  food.  It  v/as  the  prettiest  thing  he 
could  do,  and  the  landlord  delighted  in  him. 

**Gie-  'im  a  penny  plate  o'  the  gude  broo,"  said 
Auld  Jock,  and  he  took  the  copper  coin  from 
his  pocket  to  pay  for  it.  He. forgot  his  owa 
belated  meal  in  watching  the  hungry  little 

29 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

creature  eat.  Warmed  and  softened  by  Mr. 
Traill's  kindness,  and  by  the  heartening  food, 
Auld  Jock  betrayed  a  thought  that  had  rankled 
in  the  depths  of  his  mind  all  day. 

1 '  Bobby  isna  ma  ain  dog. ' '  His  voice  was  dull 
and  unhappy. 

Ah,  here  was  misery  deeper  than  any  physical 
ill!  The  penny  was  his,  a  senseless  thing;  but, 
poor,  old,  sick,  hameless  and  kinless,  the  little 
dog  that  loved  and  followed  him  "wasna  hi« 
ain."  To  hide  the  huskiness  in  his  own  voice 
Mr.  Traill  relapsed  into  broad,  burr-y  Scotch. 

"Dinna  fash  yersel',  man.  The  wee  beastie  is 
maist  michty  fond  o'  ye,  an'  ilka  dog  aye  chooses 
'is  ain  maister." 

Auld  Jock  shook  his  head  and  gave  a  brie 
account  of  Bobby's  perversity.     On  the  ver 
next  market-day  the  little  dog  must  be  restored 
to  the  tenant  of  Cauldbrae  farm  and,  if  necessary, 
tied  in  the  cart.     It  was  unlikely,  young  as  he 
was,  that  he  would  try  to  find  his  way  back,  all 
the  way  from  near  the  top  of  the  Pentlands. 
In  a  day  or  two  he  would  forget  Auld  Jock. 

' '  I  canna  say  it  wullna  be  sair  partin' — "  And 
then,  seeing  the  sympathy  in  the  landlord's  eye 
and  fearing  a  disgraceful  breakdown,  Auld  Jock 
checked  his  self-betrayal.  During  the  talk 
Bobby  stood  listening.  At  the  abrupt  ending 

30 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

he  put  his  shagged  paws  up  on  Auld  Jock's  knee, 
wistfully  inquiring  about  this  emotional  matter. 
Then  he  dropped  soberly,  and  slunk  away  under 
his  master's  chair. 

"Ay,  he  kens  we're  talkin'  aboot  'im." 

1 '  He's  a  knowing  bit  dog.  Have  you  attended 
to  his  sairous  education,  man  ?" 

"Nae,  he's  ower  young." 

"  Young  is  aye  the  time  to  teach  a  dog  or  a 
bairn  that  life  is  no'  all  play.  Man,  you  should 
put  a  sma'  terrier  at  the  vermin  an'  mak'  him 
usefu'." 

"It's  eneugh,  gin  he's  gude  company  for  the 
wee  lassie  wha's  fair  fond  o'  'im,"  Auld  Jock 
answered,  briefly.  This  was  a  strange  sentiment 
from  the  work-broken  old  man  who,  for  himself, 
would  have  held  ornamental  idleness  sinful.  He 
finished  his  supper  in  brooding  silence.  At  last 
he  broke  out  in  a  peevish  irritation  that  only 
made  his  grief  at  parting  with  Bobby  more  ap- 
parent to  an  understanding  man  like  Mr.  Traill. 

"I  dinna  ken  what  to  do  wi'  'im  i'  an  Edin- 
burgh lodgin'  the  nicht.  The  auld  wifie  I  lodge 
wi'  is  dour  by  the  ordinar',  an'  wadna  bide  'is 
blatterin'.  I  couldna  get  'im  past  'er  auld  een, 
an*  thae  terriers  a*e  aye  barkin'  aboot  naethin* 


ava." 


Mr.  TraiU's  eyes  sparkled  at  recollection  of  an 
3* 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

apt  literary  story  to  which  Dr.  John  Brown  had 
given  currency.  Like  many  Edinburgh  shop- 
keepers, Mr.  Traill  was  a  man  of  superior  educa- 
tion and  an  omnivorous  reader.  And  he  had 
many  customers  from  the  near-by  University 
to  give  him  a  fund  of  stories  of  Scotch  writers 
and  other  worthies. 

"You  have  a  double  plaid,  man?'* 

"Ay.  Ilka  shepherd's  got  a  twa-fold  plaidie." 
It  seemed  a  foolish  question  to  Auld  Jock,  but 
Mr.  Traill  went  on  blithely. 

"There's  a  pocket  in  the  plaid — ane  end  left 
open  at  the  side  to  mak'  a  pouch  ?  Nae  doubt 
you've  carried  mony  a  thing  in  that  pouch?" 

"Nae;  no'  so  mony.  Juist  the  new-born 
lambs." 

"Wed,  Sir  Walter  had  a  shepherd's  plaid,  and 
there  was  a  bit  lassie  he  was  vera  fond  of. 
Syne,  when  he  had  been  at  the  writing  a'  the 
day,  and  was  aff  his  heid  like,  with  too  mony 
thoughts,  he'd  go  across  the  town  and  fetch 
the  bairnie  to  keep  him  company.  She  was  a 
weel-born  lassie,  sax  or  seven  years  auld,  and 
sma*  of  her  age,  but  no'  half  as  sma'  as  Bobby, 
I'm  thinking."  He  stopped  fa  let  this  significant 
comparison  sink  into  Auld  jock's  mind.  "The 
lassie  had  nae  liking  for  the  unmannerly  wind 
and  snaw  of  Edinburgh.  So  Sir  Walter  just 

3* 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

happed  her  in  the  pouch  of  his  plaid,  and  tum- 
bled her  out,  snug  as  a  lamb  and  nane  the  wiser, 
in  the  big  room  wha's  walls  were  lined  with 
books." 

Auld  Jock  betrayed  not  a  glimmer  of  intelli- 
gence as  to  the  personal  bearing  of  the  story, 
but  he  showed  polite  interest.  "I  ken  naethin' 
aboot  Sir  Walter  or  ony  o'  the  grand  folk."  Mr. 
Traill  sighed,  cleared  the  table  in  silence,  and 
mended  the  fire.  It  was  ill  having  no  one  to 
talk  to  but  a  simple  old  body  who  couldn't  put 
two  and  two  together  and  make  four. 

The  landlord  lighted  his  pipe  meditatively,  and 
he  lighted  his  cruisey  lamp  for  reading.  Auld 
Jock  was  dry  and  warm  again;  oh,  very,  very 
warm,  so  that  he  presently  fell  into  a  doze.  The 
dining-room  was  so  compassed  on  all  sides  but  the 
front  by  neighboring  house  and  kirkyard  wall 
and  by  the  floors  above,  that  only  a  murmur  of 
the  storm  penetrated  it.  It  was  so  quiet,  indeed, 
that  a  tiny,  scratching  sound  in  a  distant  corner 
was  heard  distinctly.  A  streak  of  dark  silver, 
as  of  animated  mercury,  Bobby  flashed  past. 
A  scuffle,  a  squeak,  and  he  was  back  again, 
dropping  a  big  rat  at  the  landlord's  feet  and 
wagging  his  tail  with  pride. 

"Weel  done,  Bobby!  There's  a  bite  and  a 
bone  for  you  here  ony  time  o'  day  you  call  for  it. 

33 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

Ay,  a  sensible  bit  dog  will  attend  to  his  ain  edu* 
cation  and  mak'  himsel'  usefuV 

Mr.  Traill  felt  a  sudden  access  of  warm  liking 
for  the  attractive  little  scrap  of  knowingness  and 
pluck.  He  patted  the  tousled  head,  but  Bobby 
backed  away.  He  had  no  mind  to  be  caressed  by 
any  man  beside  his  master.  After  a  moment 
the  landlord  took  Guy  Mannering  down  from  the 
book-shelf.  Knowing  his  Waverley  by  heart,  he 
turned  at  once  to  the  passages  about  Dandie 
Dinmont  and  his  terriers — Mustard  and  Pepper 
and  other  spicy  wee  rascals. 

"Ay,  terriers  are  sonsie,  leal  dogs.  Auld  Jock 
will  have  ane  true  mourner  at  his  funeral.  I 
would  no'  mind  if — " 

On  impulse  he  got  up  and  dropped  a  couple 
of  hard  Scotch  buns,  very  good  dog-biscuit, 
indeed,  into  the  pocket  of  Auld  Jock's  greatcoat 
for  Bobby.  The  old  man  might  not  be  able  to 
be  out  the  morn.  With  the  thought  in  his  mind 
that  some  one  should  keep  a  friendly  eye  on  the 
man,  he  mended  the  fire  with  such  an  unnecessary 
clattering  of  the  tongs  that  Auld  Jock  started 
from  his  sleep  with  a  cry. 

"Whaur  is  it  you  have  your  lodging,  Jock?" 
the  landlord  asked,  sharply,  for  the  man  looked 
so  dazed  that  his  understanding  was  not  to  be 
Cached  easily.  He  got  the  indefinite  informa- 

34 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

tion  that  it  was  at  the  top  of  one  of  the  tall,  old 
tenements  "juist  aff  the  Coogate." 

"A  lang  climb  for  an  auld  man,"  John  Traill 
said,  compassionately;  then,  optimistic  as  usual,, 
"but  it's  a  lang  climb  or  a  foul  smell,  in  the  poor 
quarters  of  Edinburgh." 

"Ay.  It's  weel  aboon  the  fou'  smell."  With 
some  comforting  thought  that  he  did  not  confide 
to  Mr.  Traill,  but  that  ironed  lines  out  of  his  old 
face,  Auld  Jock  went  to  sleep  again.  Well,  the 
landlord  reflected,  he  could  remain  there  by  the 
fire  until  the  closing  hour  or  later,  if  need  be, 
and  by  that  time  the  storm  might  ease  a  bit,  so 
that  he  could  get  to  his  lodging  without  another 
wetting. 

For  an  hour  the  place  was  silent,  except  for  the 
falling  clinkers  from  the  grate,  the  rustling  of 
book-leaves,  and  the  plumping  of  rain  on  the 
windows,  when  the  wind  shifted  a  point.  Lost 
in  the  romance,  Mr.  Traill  took  no  note  of  the 
passing  time  or  of  his  quiet  guests  until  he  felt  a 
little  tug  at  his  trouser-leg. 

"Eh,  laddie?"  he  questioned.  Up  the  little 
dog  rose  in  the  begging  attitude.  Then,  with  a 
sharp  bark,  he  dashed  back  to  his  master. 

Something  was  very  wrong,  indeed.  Auld 
Jock  had  sunk  down  in  his  seat.  His  arms  hung 
helplessly  over  the  end  and  back  of  the  settle, 

35 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

and  his  legs  were  sprawled  limply  before  him. 
The  bonnet  that  he  always  wore,  outdoors  and 
in,  had  fallen  from  his  scant,  gray  locks,  and 
his  head  had  dropped  forward  on  his  chest.  His 
breathing  was  labored,  and  he  muttered  in  his 
sleep. 

In  a  moment  Mr.  Traill  was  inside  his  own 
greatcoat,  storm  boots  and  bonnet.  At  the 
door  he  turned  back.  The  shop  was  unguarded. 
Although  Greyfriars  Place  lay  on  the  hilltop, 
•with  the  sanctuary  of  the  kirkyard  behind  it, 
and  the  University  at  no  great  distance  in  front, 
it  was  but  a  step  up  from  the  thief -infested  gorge 
of  the  Cowgate.  The  landlord  locked  his  money- 
drawer,  pushed  his  easy-chair  against  it,  and 
roused  Auld  Jock  so  far  as  to  move  him  over 
from  the  settle.  The  chief  responsibility  he  laid 
on  the  anxious  little  dog,  that  watched  his.  every 
movement. 

'  *  Lie  down,  Bobby,  and  mind  Auld  Jock.  And 
you're  no'  a  gude  dog  if  you  canna  bark  to 
waken  the  dead  in  the  kirkyard,  if  ony  strange 
body  comes  about." 

"Whaur  are  ye  gangin'?"  cried  Auld  Jock. 
He  was  wide  awake,  with  burning,  suspicious  eyes 
fixed  on  his  host. 

"Sit  you  down,  man,  with  your  back  to  my 
siller.  I'm  going  for  a  doctor."  The  noise  of 

3* 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

the  storm,  as  he  opened  the  door,  prevented  his 
hearing  the  frightened  protest: 

"Dinna  gang!" 

The  rain  had  turned  to  sleet,  and  Mr.  Traill 
had  trouble  in  keeping  his  feet.  He  looked  first 
into  the  famous  Book  Hunter's  Stall  next  door, 
on  the  chance  of  finding  a  medical  student.  The 
place  was  open,  but  it  had  no  customers.  He 
went  on  to  the  bridge,  but  there  the  sheriff's 
court,  the  Martyr's  church,  the  society  halls  and 
all  the  smart  shops  were  closed,  their  dark  fronts 
lighted  fitfully  by  flaring  gas-lamps.  The  bitter 
night  had  driven  all  Edinburgh  to  private  cover. 

From  the  rear  came  a  clear  whistle.  Some 
Heriot  laddie  who,  being  not  entirely  a  "puir 
orphan,"  but  only  "faderless"  and,  therefore, 
living  outside  the  school  with  his  mother,  had 
been  kept  after  nightfall  because  of  ill-prepared 
lessons  or  misbehavior.  Mr.  Traill  turned,  passed 
his  own  door,  and  went  on  southward  into  Forest 
Road,  that  skirted  the  long  arm  of  the  kirkyard. 

From  the  Burghmuir,  all  the  way  to  the  Grass- 
market  and  the  Cowgate,  was  downhill.  So, 
with  arms  winged,  and  stout  legs  spread  wide  and 
braced,  Geordie  Ross  was  sliding  gaily  home- 
ward, his  knitted  tippet  a  gallant  pennant  be- 
hind. Here  was  a  Mercury  for  an  urgent  errand. 

"Laddie,  do  you  know  whaur's  a  doctor  who 
4  37 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

can  be  had  for  a  shulling  or  two  for  a  poor  auld 
country  body  in  my  shop?" 

" Is  he  so  awfu'  ill?"  Geordie  asked  with  the 
morbid  curiosity  of  lusty  boyhood. 

"He's  a'  that.  He's  aff  his  heid.  Run, 
laddie,  and  dinna  be  standing  there  wagging  your 
fule  tongue  for  naething." 

Geordie  was  off  with  speed  across  the  bridge 
to  High  Street.  Mr.  Traill  struggled  back  to  his 
shop,  against  wind  and  treacherous  ice,  thinking 
what  kind  of  a  bed  might  be  contrived  for  the 
sick  man  for  the  night.  In  the  morning  the  daft 
auld  body  could  be  hurried,  willy-nilly,  to  a  bed 
in  the  infirmary.  As  for  wee  Bobby  he  wouldn't 
mind  if — 

And  there  he  ran  into  his  own  wide-flung  door. 
A  gale  blew  through  the  hastily  deserted  place. 
Ashes  were  scattered  about  the  hearth,  and  the 
cruisey  lamp  flared  in  the  gusts.  Auld  Jock  and 
Bobby  were  gone. 


m 

ALTHOUGH  dismayed  and  self -accusing  for 
/A  having  frightened  Auld  Jock  into  taking 
flight  by  his  incautious  talk  of  a  doctor,  not  for 
an  instant  did  the  landlord  of  Greyfriars  Dining- 
Rooms  entertain  the  idea  of  following  him.  The 
old  man  had  only  to  cross  the  street  and  drop 
down  the  incline  between  the  bridge-approach 
and  the  ancient  Chapel  of  St.  Magdalen  to  be  lost 
in  the  deepest,  most  densely  peopled,  and  blackest 
gorge  in  Christendom. 

Well  knowing  that  he  was  safe  from  pursuit, 
Auld  Jock  chuckled  as  he  gained  the  last  low 
level.  Fever  lent  him  a  brief  strength,  and  the 
cold  damp  was  grateful  to  his  hot  skin.  None 
were  abroad  in  the  Cowgate;  and  that  was  lucky 
for,  in  this  black  hole  of  Edinburgh,  even  so  old 
and  poor  a  man  was  liable  to  be  set  upon  by 
thieves,  on  the  chance  of  a  few  shillings  or  pence. 
Used  as  he  was  to  following  flocks  up  treacher- 
ous braes  and  through  drifted  glens,  and  sure- 
footed as  a  collie,  Auld  Jock  had  to  pick  his 
way  carefully  over  the  slimy,  ice-glazed  cobble- 

39 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

stones  of  the  Cowgate.  He  could  see  nothing. 
The  scattered  gas-lamps,  blurred  by  the  wet,  only 
made  a  timbered  gallery  or  stone  stairs  stand  out 
here  and  there  or  lighted  up  a  Gothic  gargoyle 
to  a  fantastic  grin.  The  street  lay  so  deep  and 
narrow  that  sleet  and  wind  wasted  little  time  in 
finding  it  out,  but  roared  and  rattled  among  the 
gables,  dormers  and  chimney-stacks  overhead. 
Happy  in  finding  his  master  himself  again,  and 
sniffing  fresh  adventure,  Bobby  tumbled  noisily 
about  Auld  Jock's  feet  until  reproved.  And 
here  was  strange  going.  Ancient  and  warring 
smells  confused  and  insulted  the  little  country 
dog's  nose.  After  a  few  inquiring  and  protesting 
barks  Bobby  fell  into  a  subdued  trot  at  Auld 
Jock's  heels. 

To  this  shepherd  in  exile  the  romance  of  Old 
Edinburgh  was  a  sealed  book.  It  was,  indeed, 
difficult  for  the  most  imaginative  to  believe  that 
the  Cowgate  was  once  a  lovely,  wooded  ravine, 
with  a  rustic  burn  babbling  over  pebbles  at  its 
bottom,  and  along  the  brook  a  straggling  path 
worn  smooth  by  cattle  on  their  driven  way  to  the 
Grassmarket.  Then,  when  the  Scotish  nobility 
was  crowded  out  of  the  piled-up  mansions,  on 
the  sloping  ridge  of  High  Street  that  ran  the 
mile  from  the  Castle  to  Holyrood  Palace,  splendor 
camped  in  the  Cowgate,  in  villas  set  in  fair  gar« 

40 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

dens,  and  separated  by  hedge-rows  in  which  birds 
nested. 

In  time  this  ravine,  too,  became  overbuilt. 
Houses  tumbled  down  both  slopes  to  the  winding 
cattle  path,  and  the  burn  was  arched  over  to 
make  a  thoroughfare.  Laterally,  the  buildings 
were  crowded  together,  until  the  upper  floors  were 
pushed  out  on  timber  brackets  for  light  and  air. 
Galleries,  stairs  and  jutting  windows  were  added 
to  outer  walls,  and  the  mansions  climbed,  storey 
above  storey,  until  the  Cowgate  was  an  undercut 
canon,  such  as  is  worn  through  rock  by  the 
rivers  of  western  America.  Lairds  and  leddies, 
powdered,  jeweled  and  satin-shod,  were  borne 
in  sedan  chairs  down  ten  flights  of  stone  stairs 
and  through  torch-lit  courts  and  tunnel  streets, 
to  routs  in  Castle  or  Palace  and  to  tourneys  in 
the  Grassmarket. 

From  its  low  situation  the  Cowgate  came  in 
the  course  of  time  to  smell  to  heaven,  and  out  of 
it  was  a  sudden  exodus  of  grand  folk  to  the 
northern  hills.  The  lowest  level  was  given  over 
at  once  to  the  poor  and  to  small  trade.  The 
wynds  and  closes  that  climbed  the  southern 
slope  were  eagerly  possessed  by  divines,  lawyers 
and  literary  men  because  of  their  nearness  to  the 
University.  Long  before  Bobby's  day  the  well- 
to-do  had  fled  from  the  Cowgate  wynds  to  the 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

hilltop  streets  and  open  squares  about  the  col- 
leges. A  few  decent  working-men  remained  in 
the  decaying  houses,  some  of  which  were  at  least 
three  centuries  old.  But  there  swarmed  in  upon, 
and  submerged  them,  thousands  of  criminals, 
beggars,  and  the  miserably  poor  and  degraded  of 
many  nationalities.  Businesses  that  fatten  on 
misfortune — the  saloon,  pawn,  old  clothes  and 
cheap  food  shops — lined  the  squalid  Cowgate. 
Palaces  were  cut  up  into  honeycombs  of  tall 
tenements.  Every  stair  was  a  crowded  highway ; 
every  passage  a  place  of  deposit  for  filth ;  almost 
every  room  sheltered  a  half -famished  family,  in 
darkness  and  ancient  dirt.  Grand  and  great, 
pious  and  wise,  decent,  wretched  and  terrible 
folk,  of  every  sort,  had  preceded  Auld  Jock  to 
his  lodging  in  a  steep  and  narrow  wynd,  and 
nine  gusty  flights  up  under  a  beautiful,  old 
Gothic  gable. 

A  wrought-iron  lantern  hanging  in  an  arched 
opening,  lighted  the  entrance  to  the  wynd.  With 
a  hand  outstretched  to  either  wall  Auld  Jock  felt 
his  way  up.  Another  lantern  marked  a  sculpt- 
ured doorway  that  gave  to  the  foul  court  of  the 
tenement.  No  sky  could  be  seen  above  the  open 
well  of  the  court,  and  the  carved,  oaken  ban- 
nister of  the  stairs  had  to  be  felt  for  and  clung 
to  by  one  so  short  of  breath.  On  the  seventh 

42 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

landing,  from  the  exertion  of  the  long  climb, 
Auld  Jock  was  shaken  into  helplessness,  and  his 
heart  set  to  pounding,  by  a  violent  fit  of  cough- 
ing. Overhead  a  shutter  was  slammed  back,  and 
an  angry  voice  bade  him  stop  "deaving  folk." 

The  last  two  flights  ascended  within  the  walls. 
The  old  man  stumbled  into  the  pitch-black, 
stifling  passage  and  sat  down  on  the  lowest  step 
to  rest.  On  the  landing  above  he  must  encounter 
the  auld  wifie  of  a  landlady,  rousing  her,  it  might 
be,  and  none  too  good-tempered,  from  sleep. 
Unaware  that  he  added  to  his  master's  difficul- 
ties, Bobby  leaped  upon  him  and  licked  the  be- 
loved face  that  he  could  not  see. 

"Eh,  laddie,  I  dinna  ken  what  to  do  wi'  ye. 
We  maun  juist  hae  to  sleep  oot."  It  did  not 
occur  to  Auld  Jock  that  he  could  abandon  the 
little  dog.  And  then  there  drifted  across  his 
memory  a  bit  of  Mr.  Traill's  talk  that,  at  the 
time,  had  seemed  to  no  purpose:  "Sir  Walter 
happed  the  wee  lassie  in  the  pocket  of  his 
plaid — "  He  slapped  his  knee  in  silent  triumph. 
In  the  dark  he  found  the  broad,  open  end  of  the 
plaid,  and  the  rough,  excited  head  of  the  little 
dog. 

"A  hap,  an*  a  stap,  an*  a  loup,  an'  in  ye  gang. 
Loup  in,  laddie !" 

Bobby  jumped  into  the  pocket  and  turned 
43 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

'round  and  'round.  His  little  muzzle  opened  for 
a  delighted  bark  at  this  original  play,  but  Auld 
Jock  checked  him. 

"Cuddle  doon  noo,  an'  lie  canny  as  pussy." 
With  a  deft  turn  he  brought  the  weighted  end  of 
the  plaid  up  under  his  arm  so  there  would  be  no 
betraying  drag.  "We'll  pu'  the  wool  ower  the 
auld  wifie's  een,"  he  chuckled. 

He  mounted  the  stairs  almost  blithely,  and 
knocked  on  one  of  the  three  narrow  doors  that 
opened  on  the  two-by-eight  landing.  It  was 
opened  a  few  inches,  on  a  chain,  and  a  sordid  old 
iace,  framed  in  straggling  gray  locks  and  a  dirty 
mutch  cap,  peered  suspiciously  at  him  through 
the  crevice. 

Auld  Jock  had  his  money  in  hand — a  shilling 
and  a  sixpence — to  pay  for  a  week's  lodging. 
He  had  slept  in  this  place  for  several  winters, 
and  the  old  woman  knew  him  well,  but  she  held 
his  coins  to  the  candle  and  bit  them  with  her 
teeth  to  test  them.  Without  a  word  of  greeting 
she  shoved  the  key  to  the  sleeping-closet  he  had 
always  fancied,  through  the  crack  in  the  door, 
and  pointed  to  a  jug  of  water  at  the  foot  of  the 
attic  stairs.  On  the  proffer  of  a  halfpenny  she 
gave  him  a  tallow  candle,  lighted  it  at  her  own 
and  fitted  it  into  the  neck  of  a  beer  bottle 

"Ye  hae  a  cauld."  she  said  at  last,  with  some 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

hostility.  "Gin  ye  wauken  yer  neebors  ye'U 
juist  hae  to  techt  it  oot  wi'  'em." 

"Ay,  I  ken  a'  that,"  Auld  Jock  answered.  He 
smothered  a  cough  in  his  chest  with  such  effort 
that  it  threw  him  into  a  perspiration.  In  some 
way,  with  the  jug  of  water  and  the  lighted  candle 
in  his  hands  and  the  hidden  terrier  under  one 
arm,  the  old  man  mounted  the  eighteen-inch- 
wide,  walled-in  attic  stairs  and  unlocked  the  first 
of  a  number  of  narrow  doors  on  the  passage  at 
the  top. 

"Weel  aboon  the  fou'  smell,"  indeed;  "weel 
worth  the  lang  climb ! ' '  Around  the  loose  frames 
of  two  wee  southward-looking  dormer  windows, 
that  jutted  from  the  slope  of  the  gable,  came 
a  gush  of  rain-washed  air.  Auld  Jock  tumbled 
Bobby,  warm  and  happy  and  "nane  the  wiser," 
out  into  the  cold  cell  of  a  room  that  was  oh,  so 
very,  very  different  from  the  high,  warm,  richly 
colored  library  of  Sir  Walter!  This  garret  closet 
in  the  slums  of  Edinburgh  was  all  of  cut  stone, 
except  for  the  worn,  oaken  floor,  a  flimsy,  modern 
door,  and  a  thin,  board  partition  on  one  side 
through  which  a  "neebor"  could  be  heard  snor- 
ing. Filling  all  of  the  outer  wall,  between  the 
peephole,  leaded  windows  and  running  up  to 
the  slope  of  the  ceiling,  was  a  great  fireplace  of 
native  white  freestone,  carved  into  fluted  col* 

45 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

umns,  foliated  capitals,  and  a  fiat  pediment  of 
purest  classic  lines.  The  ballroom  of  a  noble 
of  Queen  Mary's  day  had  been  cut  up  into  nu- 
merous small  sleeping-closets,  many  of  them 
windowless,  and  were  let  to  the  chance  lodger  at 
threepence  the  night.  Here,  where  generations 
of  dancing  toes  had  been  warmed,  the  chimney- 
vent  was  bricked  up,  and  a  boxed-in  shelf  fitted, 
to  serve  for  a  bed,  a  seat  and  a  table,  for  such 
as  had  neither  time  nor  heart  for  dancing.  For 
the  romantic  history  and  the  beauty  of  it,  Auld 
Jock  had  no  mind  at  all.  But,  ah !  he  had  other 
joy  often  missed  by  the  more  fortunate. 

"Be  canny,  Bobby,"  he  cautioned  again. 

The  sagacious  little  dog  understood,  and  pat- 
tered about  the  place  silently.  Exhausting  it  in 
a  moment,  and  very  plainly  puzzled  and  bored, 
he  sat  on  his  haunches,  yawned  wide,  and  looked 
up  inquiringly  to  his  master.  Auld  Jock  set  the 
jug  and  the  candle  on  the  floor  and  slipped  off 
his  boots.  He  had  no  wish  to  "wauken  'is 
neebors."  With  nervous  haste  he  threw  back  one 
of  the  windows  on  its  hinges,  reached  across  the 
wide  stone  ledge  and  brought  in — wonder  of 
wonders,  in  such  a  place — a  tiny  earthen  pot  of 
heather! 

"Is  it  no*  a  bonny  posie?"  he  whispered  to 
Bobby.  With  this  cherished  bit  of  the  country 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

that  he  had  left  behind  him  the  April  before  in 
his  hands,  he  sat  down  in  the  fireplace  bed  and 
lifted  Bobby  beside  him.  He  sniffed  at  the  with- 
ered tuft  of  purple  bloom  fondly,  and  his  old  face 
blossomed  into  smiles.  It  was  the  secret  thought 
of  this,  and  of  the  hillward  outlook  from  the 
little  windows,  that  had  ironed  the  lines  from 
his  face  in  Mr.  TraiU's  dining-room.  Bobby 
sniffed  at  the  starved  plant,  too,  and  wagged  his 
tail  with  pleasure,  for  a  dog's  keenest  memories 
are  recorded  by  the  nose. 

Overhead,  loose  tiles  and  finials  rattled  in  the 
wind,  that  was  dying  away  in  fitful  gusts;  but 
Auld  Jock  heard  nothing.  In  fancy  he  was  away 
on  the  braes,  in  the  shy  sun  and  wild  wet  of 
April  weather.  Shepherds  were  shouting,  sheep- 
dogs barking,  ewes  bleating,  and  a  wee  puppy, 
still  unnamed,  scampering  at  his  heels  in  the 
swift,  dramatic  days  of  lambing  time.  And  so, 
presently,  when  the  forlorn  hope  of  the  little  pot 
had  been  restored  to  the  ledge,  master  and  dog 
were  in  tune  with  the  open  country,  and  began  a 
romp  such  as  they  often  had  indulged  in  behind 
the  byre  on  a  quiet,  Sabbath  afternoon. 

They  had  learned  to  play  there  like  two  well- 
brought-up  children,  in  pantomime,  so  as  not 
to  scandalize  pious  countryfolk.  Now,  in  obe- 
dience to  a  gesture,  a  nod,  a  lifted  eyebrow, 

47 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

Bobby  went  through  all  his  pretty  tricks,  and 
showed  how  far  his  serious  education  had  pro- 
gressed. He  rolled  over  and  over,  begged, 
vaulted  the  low  hurdle  of  his  master's  arm, 
and  played  "deid."  He  scampered  madly  over 
imaginary  pastures;  ran,  straight  as  a  string, 
along  a  stone  wall;  scrambled  under  a  thorny 
hedge;  chased  rabbits,  and  dug  foxes  out  of 
holes;  swam  a  burn,  flushed  feeding  curlews,  and 
*  'froze  "  beside  a  rat-hole.  When  the  excitement 
was  at  its  height  and  the  little  dog  was  bursting 
with  exuberance,  Auld  Jock  forgot  his  caution. 
Holding  his  bonnet  just  out  of  reach,  he  cried 
aloud : 

"Loup,  Bobby!" 

Bobby  jumped  for  the  bonnet,  missed  it, 
jumped  again  and  barked — the  high-pitched, 
penetrating  yelp  of  the  terrier. 

Instantly  their  little  house  of  joy  tumbled 
about  their  ears.  There  was  a  pounding  on 
the  thin  partition  wall,  an  oath  and  a  shout: 
"Whaur's  the  deil  o'  a  dog?"  Bobby  flew  at 
the  insulting  clamor,  but  Auld  Jock  dragged  him 
back  roughly.  In  a  voice  made  harsh  by  fear 
for  his  little  pet,  he  commanded: 

"Haud  yer  gab  or  they'll  hae  ye  oot." 

Bobby  dropped  like  a  shot,  cringing  at  Auld 
Jock's  feet.  The  most  sensitive  of  four-footed 

48 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

creatures  in  the  world,  the  Skye  terrier  is  utterly 
abased  by  a  rebuke  from  his  master.  The  whole 
garret  was  soon  in  an  uproar  of  vile  accusation 
and  shrill  denial  that  spread  from  cell  to  cell. 
Auld  Jock  glowered  down  at  Bobby  with  fright- 
ened eyes.  In  the  winters  he  had  lodged  there 
he  had  lived  unmolested  only  because  he  had 
managed  to  escape  notice.  Timid  old  country 
body  that  he  was,  he  could  not  "fecht  it  oot" 
with  the  thieves  and  beggars  and  drunkards  of 
the  Cowgate.  By  and  by  the  brawling  died 
down.  In  the  double  row  of  little  dens  this  one 
alone  was  silent,  and  the  offending  dog  was  not 
located. 

But  when  the  danger  was  past,  Auld  Jock's 
heart  was  pounding  in  his  chest.  His  legs  gave 
way  under  him,  when  he  got  up  to  fetch  the 
candle  from  near  the  door  and  set  it  on  a  project- 
ing brick  in  the  fireplace.  By  its  light  he  began 
to  read  in  a  small  pocket  Bible  the  Psalm  that 
had  always  fascinated  him  because  he  had  never 
been  able  to  understand  it. 

"The  Lord  is  my  Shepherd;  I  shall  not  want." 
So  far  it  was  plain  and  comforting.  "He  mak- 
eth  me  to  He  down  in  green  pastures.  He  leadeth 
me  beside  the  still  waters." 

Nae,  the  pastures  were  brown,  or  purple  and 
yellow  with  heather  and  gorse.  Rocks  cropped 

49 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

out  everywhere,  and  the  peaty  tarns  were  mostlj 
bleak  and  frozen.  The  broad  Firth  was  ever 
ebbing  and  flowing  with  the  restless  sea,  and  the 
burns  bickering  down  the  glens.  The  minister 
of  the  little  hill  kirk  had  said  once  that  in  Eng- 
land the  pastures  were  green  and  the  lakes  still 
and  bright ;  but  that  was  a  fey,  foreign  country 
to  which  Auld  Jock  had  no  desire  to  go.  He 
wondered,  wistfully,  if  he  would  feel  at  hame 
in  God's  heaven,  and  if  there  would  be  room 
in  that  lush  silence  for  a  noisy  little  dog,  as  there 
was  on  the  rough  Pentland  braes.  And  there 
his  thoughts  came  back  to  this  cold  prison  cell 
in  which  he  could  not  defend  the  right  of  his  one 
faithful  little  friend  to  live.  He  stooped  and 
lifted  Bobby  into  the  bed.  Humble,  and  eager  to 
be  forgiven  for  an  offense  he  could  not  under- 
stand, the  loving  little  creature  leaped  to  Auld 
Jock's  arms  and  lavished  frantic  endearments 
upon  him. 

Lying  so  together  in  the  dark,  man  and  dog  fell 
into  a  sleep  that  was  broken  by  Auld  Jock's  fit- 
ful coughing  and  the  abuse  of  his  neighbors.  It 
was  not  until  the  wind  had  long  died  to  a  muffled 
murmur  at  the  casements,  and  every  other  lodger 
was  out,  that  Auld  Jock  slept  soundly.  He 
awoke  late  to  find  Bobby  waiting  patiently  on 
the  floor  and  the  bare  cell  flooded  with  white 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

glory.  That  could  mean  but  one  thing.  He 
stumbled  dizzily  to  his  feet  and  threw  a  sash 
back.  Over  the  huddle  of  high  housetops,  the 
University  towers  and  the  scattered  suburbs  be- 
yond, he  looked  away  to  the  snow-clad  slopes  of 
the  Pentlands,  running  up  to  heaven  and  shining 
under  the  pale  winter  sunshine. 

1  'The  snaw!  Eh,  Bobby,  but  it's  a  bonny 
sicht  to  auld  een!"  he  cried,  with  the  simple  de- 
light of  a  child.  He  stooped  to  lift  Bobby  to  the 
wonder  of  it,  when  the  world  suddenly  went 
black  and  roaring  around  in  his  head.  Stagger- 
ing back  he  crumpled  up  in  a  pitiful  heap  on  the 
floor. 

Bobby  licked  his  master's  face  and  hands,  and 
then  sat  quietly  down  beside  him.  So  many 
strange,  uncanny  things  had  happened  within 
the  last  twenty-four  hours  that  the  little  dog  was 
rapidly  outgrowing  his  irresponsible  puppyhood. 
After  a  long  time  Auld  Jock  opened  his  eyes  and 
sat  up.  Bobby  put  his  paws  on  his  master's 
knees  in  anxious  sympathy.  Before  the  man 
had  got  his  wits  about  him  the  time-gun  boomed 
from  the  Castle.  Panic-stricken  that  he  should 
have  slept  in  his  bed  so  late,  and  then  lain  sense- 
less on  the  floor  for  he  knew  not  how  long,  Auld 
Jock  got  up  and  struggled  into  his  greatcoat, 
bonnet  and  plaid.  In  feeling  for  his  woolen 

5* 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

mittens  he  discovered  the  buns  that  Mr.  TraiB 
had  dropped  into  his  pocket  for  Bobby. 

The  old  man  stared  and  stared  at  them  in 
piteous  dismay.  Mr.  Traill  had  believed  him  to 
be  so  ill  that  he  "wouldna  be  oot  the  morn."  It 
was  a  staggering  thought. 

The  bells  of  St.  Giles  broke  into  "Over  the 
Hills  and  Far  Away. ' '  The  melody  came  to  Auld 
Jock  clearly,  unbroken  by  echoes,  for  the  garret 
was  on  a  level  with  the  cathedral's  crown  on 
High  Street.  It  brought  to  him  again  a  vision 
of  the  Midlothian  slopes,  but  it  reminded  Bobby 
that  it  was  dinner-time.  He  told  Auld  Jock  so 
by  running  to  the  door  and  back  and  begging 
him,  by  every  pretty  wile  at  his  command,  to  go. 
The  old  man  got  to  his  feet  and  then  fell  back, 
pale  and  shaken,  his  heart  hammering  again. 
Bobby  ate  the  bun  soberly  and  then  sat  up 
against  Auld  Jock's  feet,  that  dangled  helplessly 
from  the  bed.  The  bells  died  away  from  the 
man's  ears  before  they  had  ceased  playing. 
Both  the  church  and  the  University  bells  struck 
the  hour  of  two — then  three — then  four.  Daylight 
had  begun  to  fail  when  Auld  Jock  stirred,  sat  up, 
and  did  a  strange  thing:  taking  from  his  pocket  a 
leather  bag-purse  that  was  closed  by  a  draw-string, 
he  counted  the  few  crowns  and  shillings  in  i 
the  many  smaller  silver  and  copper  coins. 

52 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

' '  There '  s  eneugh , "  he  said .  There  was  enough, 
by  careful  spending,  to  pay  for  food  and  lodging 
for  a  few  weeks,  to  save  himself  from  the  charity 
of  the  infirmary.  By  this  act  he  admitted  the 
humiliating  and  fearful  fact  that  he  was  very  ill. 
The  precious  little  hoard  must  be  hidden  from 
the  chance  prowler.  He  looked  for  a  loose  brick 
in  the  fireplace,  but  before  he  found  one  he  forgot 
all  about  it,  and  absent-mindedly  heaped  the 
coins  in  a  little  pile  on  the  open  Bible  at  the 
back  of  the  bed. 

For  a  long  time  Anld  Jock  sat  there  with  his 
head  in  his  hands  before  he  again  slipped  back  to 
his  pillow.  Darkness  stole  into  the  quiet  room. 
The  lodgers  returned  to  their  dens  one  after  one, 
tramping  or  slipping  or  hobbling  up  the  stairs 
and  along  the  passage.  Bobby  bristled  and 
froze,  on  guard,  when  a  stealthy  hand  tried  the 
latch.  Then  there  were  sounds  of  fighting,  of 
crying  w^ornen,  and  the  long,  low  wailing  of 
wretched  children.  The  evening  drum  and 
bugle  were  heard  from  the  Castle,  and  hour  after 
hour  was  struck  from  the  clock  of  St.  Giles 
while  Bobby  watched  beside  his  master. 

All  night  Auld  Jock  was  "aff  'is  heid."  When 
he  muttered  in  his  sleep  or  cried  out  in  the  de- 
lirium of  fever,  the  little  dog  put  his  paws  upon 
the  bed-rail.  He  scratched  on  it  and  begged  to 
5  53 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

be  lifted  to  where  he  could  comfort  his  masterv 
for  the  shelf  was  set  too  high  for  him  to  climb 
into  the  bed.  Unable  to  get  his  master's  atten- 
tion, he  licked  the  hot  hand  that  hung  over  the 
side.  Auld  Jock  lay  still  at  last,  not  coughing 
any  more,  but  breathing  rapid,  shallow  breaths. 
Just  at  dawn  he  turned  his  head  and  gazed  in 
bewilderment  at  the  alert  and  troubled  little 
creature  that  was  instantly  upon  the  rail.  After 
a  long  time  he  recognized  the  dog  and  patted 
the  shaggy  little  head.  Feeling  around  the  bed, 
he  found  the  other  bun  and  dropped  it  on 
the  floor.  Presently  he  said,  between  strangled 
breaths : 

* '  Puir  —  Bobby !  Gang — awa'  —  hame  —  lad- 
die." 

After  that  it  was  suddenly  very  still  in  the 
brightening  room.  Bobby  gazed  and  gazed  at 
his  master  —  one  long,  heartbroken  look,  then 
dropped  to  all  fours  and  stood  trembling.  With- 
out another  look  he  stretched  himself  upon  the 
hearthstone  below  the  bed. 

Morning  and  evening  footsteps  went  down  and 
came  up  on  the  stairs.  Throughout  the  day — the 
babel  of  crowded  tenement  strife;  the  crying  of 
fishwives  and  fagot- venders  in  the  court;  the 
striking  of  the  hours;  the  boom  of  the  time-gun 
and  sweet  clamor  of  music  bells;  the  failing  of 

t* 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

the  light  and  the  soaring  note  of  the  bugl< 
Bobby  watched  motionless  beside  his  master. 

Very  late  at  night  shuffling  footsteps  came 
up  the  stairs.  The  '  'auld  wifie  "  kept  a  sharp  eye 
on  the  comings  and  goings  of  her  lodgers.  It 
was  "  no*  canny  "  that  this  old  man,  with  a  cauld 
in  his  chest,  had  gone  up  full  two  days  before  and 
had  not  come  down  again.  To  bitter  complaints 
of  his  coughing  and  of  his  strange  talking  to  him- 
self she  gave  scant  attention,  but  foul  play 
was  done  often  enough  in  these  dens  to  make  her 
uneasy.  She  had  no  desire  to  have  the  Burgh 
police  coming  about  and  interfering  with  her 
business.  She  knocked  sharply  on  the  door  and 
called : 

"Auld  Jock!" 

Bobby  trotted  over  to  the  door  and  stood 
looking  at  it.  In  such  a  strait  he  would  natu- 
rally have  welcomed  the  visitor,  scratching  on  the 
panel,  and  crying  to  any  human  body  without 
to  come  in  and  see  what  had  befallen  his  master. 
But  Auld  Jock  had  bade  him  "haud  'is  gab" 
there,  as  in  Greyfriars  kirkyard.  So  he  held  to 
loyal  silence,  although  the  knocking  and  shaking 
of  the  latch  was  insistent  and  the  lodgers  were 
astir.  The  voice  of  the  old  woman  was  shrill 
with  alarm. 

"Auld  Jock,  can  ye  no*  wauken?"    And,  after 
55 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

a  moment,  in  which  the  unlatched  casement 
window  within  could  be  heard  creaking  on  its 
hinges  in  the  chill  breeze,  there  was  a  hushed 
and  frightened  question: 

"Areyedeid?" 

The  footsteps  fled  down  the  stairs,  and  Bobby 
was  left  to  watch  through  the  long  hours  of 
darkness. 

Very  early  in  the  morning  the  flimsy  door  was 
quietly  forced  by  authority.  The  first  man  who 
entered — an  officer  of  the  Crown  from  the  sheriff's 
court  on  the  bridge  —  took  off  his  hat  to  the 
majesty  that  dominated  that  bare  cell.  The 
Cowgate  region  presented  many  a  startling  con- 
trast, but  such  a  one  as  this  must  seldom  have 
been  seen.  The  classic  fireplace,  and  the  motion- 
less figure  and  peaceful  face  of  the  pious  old 
shepherd  within  it,  had  the  dignity  and  beauty 
of  some  monumental  tomb  and  carven  effigy  in 
old  Greyfriars  kirkyard.  Only  less  strange  was 
the  contrast  between  the  marks  of  poverty  and 
toil  on  the  dead  man  and  the  dainty  grace  of 
the  little  fluff  of  a  dog  that  mourned  him. 

No  such  men  as  these — officers  of  her  Majesty 
the  Queen,  Burgh  policemen,  and  learned  doc- 
tors from  the  Royal  Infirmary — had  ever  been 
aware  of  Auld  Jock,  living.  Dead,  and  no*  need- 
ing them  any  more,  they  stood  guard  over  him, 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

and  inquired  sternly  as  to  the  manner  in  which 
he  had  died.  There  was  a  hysterical  breath  of 
relief  from  the  crowd  of  lodgers  and  tenants  when 
the  little  pile  of  coins  was  found  on  the  Bible. 
There  had  been  no  foul  play.  Auld  Jock  had 
died  of  heart  failure,  from  pneumonia  and  worn- 
out  old  age. 

"There's  eneugh,"  a  Burgh  policeman  said 
when  the  money  was  counted.  He  meant  much 
the  same  thing  Auld  Jock  himself  had  meant. 
There  was  enough  to  save  him  from  the  last 
indignity  a  life  of  useful  labor  can  thrust  upon 
the  honest  poor — pauper  burial.  But  when  in- 
quiries were  made  for  the  name  and  the  friends 
of  this  old  man  there  appeared  to  be  only  "Auld 
Jock"  to  enter  into  the  record,  and  a  little  dog 
to  follow  the  body  to  the  grave.  It  was  a  Bible- 
reader  who  chanced  to  come  in  from  the  Medical 
Mission  in  the  Cowgate  who  thought  to  look  in 
the  fly-leaf  of  Auld  Jock's  Bible. 

"His  name  is  John  Gray/' 

He  laid  the  worn  little  book  on  Auld  Jock's 
breast  and  crossed  the  work-scarred  hands  upon 
it.  "It's  something  by  the  ordinar'  to  find  a  gude 
auld  country  body  in  such  a  foul  place."  He 
Stooped  and  patted  Bobby,  and  noted  the  bun,  un- 
touched, upon  the  floor.  Turning  to  a  wild  elf  of 
a  barefooted  child  in  the  crowd  he  spoke  to  her. 

57 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

*'  Would  you  share  your  gude  brose  with  the  bit 
dog,  lassie?" 

She  darted  down  the  stairs,  and  presently  re- 
turned with  her  own  scanty  bowl  of  breakfast 
porridge.  Bobby  refused  the  food,  but  he  looked 
at  her  so  mournfully  that  the  first  tears  of  pity 
her  unchildlike  eyes  had  ever  shed  welled  up. 
She  put  out  her  hand  timidly  and  stroked  him. 

It  was  just  before  the  report  of  the  time-gun 
that  two  policemen  cleared  the  stairs,  shrouded 
Auld  Jock  in  his  own  greatcoat  and  plaid,  and 
carried  him  down  to  the  court.  There  they  laid 
him  in  a  plain  box  of  white  deal  that  stood  on 
the  pavement,  closed  it,  and  went  away  down  the 
wynd  on  a  necessary  errand.  The  Bible-reader 
sat  on  an  empty  beer  keg  to  guard  the  box,  and 
Bobby  climbed  on  the  top  and  stretched  himself 
above  his  master.  The  court  was  a  well,  more 
than  a  hundred  feet  deep.  What  sky  might 
have  been  visible  above  it  was  hidden  by  tier 
above  tier  of  dingy,  tattered  washings.  The 
stairway  filled  again,  and  throngs  of  outcasts  of 
every  sort  went  about  their  squalid  businesses, 
with  only  a  curious  glance  or  so  at  the  pathetic 
group. 

Presently  the  policemen  returned  from  the 
Cowgate  with  a  motley  assortment  of  pall- 
bearers. There  was  a  good-tempered  Irish 

58 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

laborer  from  a  near-by  brewery;  a  decayed 
gentleman,  unsteady  of  gait  and  blear-eyed,  in 
a  greasy  frock-coat  and  broken  hat;  a  flashily 
dressed  bartender  who  found  the  task  dis- 
tasteful; a  stout,  bent-backed  fagot-carrier;  a 
drunken  fisherman  from  New  Haven,  suddenly 
sobered  by  this  uncanny  duty,  and  a  furtive- 
eyed,  gaol-bleached  thief  who  feared  a  trap  and 
tried  to  escape. 

Tailed  by  scuffling  gamins,  the  strange  little 
procession  moved  quickly  down  the  wynd  and 
turned  into  the  roaring  Cowgate.  The  policemen 
went  before  to  force  a  passage  through  the  press. 
The  Bible-reader  followed  the  box,  and  Bobby, 
head  and  tail  down,  trotted  unnoticed,  beneath  it. 
The  humble  funeral  train  passed  under  a  bridge 
arch  into  the  empty  Grassmarket,  and  went  up 
Candlemakers  Row  to  the  kirkyard  gate.  Such 
as  Auld  Jock,  now,  by  unnumbered  thousands, 
were  coming  to  lie  among  the  grand  and  great, 
laird  and  leddy,  poet  and  prophet,  persecutor 
and  martyr,  in  the  piled-up,  historic  burying- 
ground  of  old  Greyfriars. 

By  a  gesture  the  caretaker  directed  the 
bearers  to  the  right,  past  the  church,  and  on  down 
the  crowded  slope  to  the  north,  that  was  circled 
about  by  the  backs  of  the  tenements  in  the 
Grassmarket  and  Candlemakers  Row.  The  box 

19 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

was  lowered  at  once,  and  the  pall-bearers  hastily 
departed  to  delayed  dinners.  The  policemen 
had  urgent  duties  elsewhere.  Only  the  Bible- 
reader  remained  to  see  the  grave  partly  filled  in, 
and  to  try  to  persuade  Bobby  to  go  away  with 
him.  But  the  little  dog  resisted  with  such 
piteous  struggles  that  the  man  put  him  down 
again.  The  grave-digger  leaned  on  his  spade 
for  a  bit  of  professional  talk. 

' '  Mony  a  dog  gangs  daft  an'  greets  like  a  human 
body  when  his  maister  dees.  They're  aye  put 
oot,  a  time  or  twa,  an'  they  gang  to  folk  that  ken 
them,  an'  syne  they  tak'  to  ithers.  Dinna  fash 
yersel'  aboot  'im.  He  wullna  greet  lang." 

Since  Bobby  would  not  go,  there  was  nothing 
to  do  but  leave  him  there;  but  it  was  with  many 
a  backward  look  and  disturbing  doubt  that  the 
good  man  turned  away.  The  grave-digger  fin- 
ished his  task  cheerfully,  shouldered  his  tools, 
and  left  the  kirkyard.  The  early  dark  was  com- 
ing on  when  the  caretaker,  in  making  his  last 
rounds,  found  the  little  terrier  flattened  out  on 
the  new-made  mound. 

"Gang  awa'  oot!"  he  ordered.  Bobby  looked 
up  pleadingly  and  trembled,  but  he  made  no  mo- 
tion to  obey.  James  Brown  was  not  an  unfeeling 
man,  and  he  was  but  doing  his  duty.  From  an 
impulse  of  pity  for  this  bonny  wee  bit  of  loyalty 

60 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

and  grief  he  picked  Bobby  up,  carried  him  all  the 
way  to  the  gate  and  set  him  over  the  wicket  on 
the  pavement. 

"Gang  awa'  hame,  noo,"  he  said,  kindly.  "A 
kirkya'rd  isna  a  place  for  a  bit  dog  to  be  leevin'." 

Bobby  lay  where  he  had  been  dropped  until 
the  caretaker  was  out  of  sight.  Then,  finding 
the  aperture  under  the  gate  too  small  for  him 
to  squeeze  through,  he  tried,  in  his  ancestral  way, 
to  enlarge  it  by  digging.  He  scratched  and 
scratched  at  the  unyielding  stone  until  his  little 
claws  were  broken  and  his  toes  bleeding,  before  he 
stopped  and  lay  down  with  his  nose  under  the 
wicket. 

Just  before  the  closing  hour  a  carriage  stopped 
at  the  kirkyard  gate.  A  black-robed  lady, 
carrying  flowers,  hurried  through  the  wicket. 
Bobby  slipped  in  behind  her  and  disappeared. 

After  nightfall,  when  the  lamps  were  lighted 
on  the  bridge,  when  Mr.  Traill  had  come  out  to 
stand  idly  in  his  doorway,  looking  for  some  one 
to  talk  to,  and  James  Brown  had  locked  the  kirk- 
yard  gate  for  the  night  and  gone  into  his  little 
stone  lodge  to  supper,  Bobby  came  out  of  hiding 
and  stretched  himself  prone  across  Auld  Jock's 
grave. 


IV 


CIFTEEN  minutes  after  the  report  of  the 
1  time-gun  on  Monday,  when  the  bells  were 
playing  their  merriest  and  the  dining-rooms  were 
busiest,  Mr.  Traill  felt  such  a  tiny  tug  at  his 
trouser-leg  that  it  was  repeated  before  he  gave 
it  attention.  In  the  press  of  hungry  guests 
Bobby  had  little  more  than  room  to  rise  in  his 
pretty,  begging  attitude.  The  landlord  was  so 
relieved  to  see  him  again,  after  five  conscience- 
stricken  days,  that  he  stooped  to  clap  the  little 
dog  on  the  side  and  to  greet  him  with  jocose 
approval. 

"Gude  dog  to  fetch  Auld  Jock—" 
With  a  faint  and  piteous  cry  that  was  heard  by 
no  one  but  Mr.  Traill,  Bobby  toppled  over  on  the 
floor.  It  was  a  limp  little  bundle  that  the  land- 
lord picked  up  from  under  foot  and  held  on  his 
arm  a  moment,  while  he  looked  around  for  the 
dog's  master.  Shocked  at  not  seeing  Auld  Jock, 
by  a  kind  of  inspiration  he  carried  the  little  dog 
to  the  inglenook  and  laid  him  down  under  the 
familiar  settle.  Bobby  was  little  more  than 

62 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

breathing,  but  he  opened  his  silkily  veiled  brown 
eyes  and  licked  the  friendly  hand  that  had  done 
him  this  refinement  of  kindness.  It  took  Mr. 
Traill  more  than  a  moment  to  realize  the  nature 
of  the  trouble.  A  dog  with  so  thick  a  fleece  of 
wool,  under  so  crisply  waving  an  outer  coat  as 
Bobby's,  may  perish  for  lack  of  food  and  show  no 
outward  sign  of  emaciation. 

"The  sonsie,  wee — why,  he's  all  but  starved!" 
Pale  with  pity,  Mr.  Traill  snatched  a  plate  of 
broth  from  the  hands  of  a  gaping  waiter  laddie, 
set  it  under  Bobby's  nose,  and  watched  him  be- 
gin to  lap  the  warm  liquid  eagerly.  In  the  busy 
place  the  incident  passed  unnoticed.  With  his 
usual,  brisk  decision  Mr.  Traill  turned  the  backs 
of  a  couple  of  chairs  over  against  the  nearest 
table,  to  signify  that  the  corner  was  reserved,  and 
he  went  about  his  duties  with  unwonted  silence. 
As  the  crowd  thinned  he  returned  to  the  ingle- 
nook  to  find  Bobby  asleep,  not  curled  up  in  a 
tousled  ball,  as  such  a  little  dog  should  be,  but 
stretched  on  his  side  and  breathing  irregularly. 
If  Bobby  was  in  such  straits,  how  must  it  be 
with  Auld  Jock  ?  This  was  the  fifth  day  since  the 
sick  old  man  had  fled  into  the  storm.  With  new 
disquiet  Mr.  Traill  remembered  a  matter  that 
had  annoyed  him  in  the  morning,  and  that  he  had 
been  inclined  to  charge  to  mischievous  Heriot 

63 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

boys.  Low  down  on  the  outside  of  his  freshly 
varnished  entrance  door  were  many  scratches 
that  Bobby  could  have  made.  He  may  have 
come  for  food  on  the  Sabbath  day  when  the 
place  was  closed. 

After  an  hour  Bobby  woke  long  enough  to  eat 
a  generous  plate  of  that  delectable  and  highly 
nourishing  Scotch  dish  known  as  haggis.  He 
fell  asleep  again  in  an  easier  attitude  that  re- 
lieved the  tension  on  the  landlord's  feelings. 
Confident  that  the  devoted  little  dog  would  lead 
him  straight  to  his  master,  Mr.  Traill  closed  the 
door  securely,  that  he  might  not  escape  un- 
noticed, and  arranged  his  own  worldly  affairs  so 
he  could  leave  them  to  hirelings  on  the  instant. 
In  the  idle  time  between  dinner  and  supper  he 
sat  down  by  the  fire,  lighted  his  pipe,  repented 
his  unruly  tongue,  and  waited.  As  the  short 
day  darkened  to  its  close  the  sunset  bugle  was 
blown  in  the  Castle.  At  the  first  note  Bobby 
crept  from  under  the  settle,  a  little  unsteady  on 
his  legs  as  yet,  wagged  his  tail  for  thanks,  and 
trotted  to  the  door. 

Mr.  Traill  had  no  trouble  at  all  in  keeping  the 
little  dog  in  sight  to  the  kirkyard  gate,  for  in  the 
dusk  his  coat  shone  silvery  white.  Indeed,  by 
a  backward  look  now  and  then,  Bobby  seemed 
to  invite  the  man  to  follow,  and  waited  at  the 

64 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

gate,  with  some  impatience,  for  him  to  come 
up.  Help  was  needed  there.  By  rising  and 
tugging  at  Mr.  Traill's  clothing  and  then  jumping 
on  the  wicket  Bobby  plainly  begged  to  have  it 
opened.  He  made  no  noise,  neither  barking  nor 
whimpering,  and  that  was  very  strange  for  a 
dog  of  the  terrier  breed;  but  each  instant  of 
delay  he  became  more  insistent,  and  even  fran- 
tic, to  have  the  gate  unlatched.  Mr.  Traill  re- 
fused to  believe  what  Bobby's  behavior  indicated, 
and  rep  oved  him  in  the  broad  Scotch  to  which 
the  country  dog  was  used. 

"Nae,  Bobby;  be  a  gude  dog.  Gang  doon  to 
the  Coogate  noo,  an'  find  Auld  Jock." 

Uttering  no  cry  at  all,  Bobby  gave  the  man 
such  a  woebegone  look  and  dropped  to  the  pave- 
ment, with  his  long  muzzle  as  far  under  the 
wicket  as  he  could  thrust  it,  that  the  truth  shot 
home  to  Mr.  Traill's  understanding.  He  opened 
the  gate.  Bobby  slipped  through  and  stood  just 
inside  a  moment,  and  looking  back  as  if  he  ex- 
pected his  human  friend  to  follow.  Then,  very 
suddenly,  as  the  door  of  the  lodge  opened  and  the 
caretaker  came  out,  Bobby  disappeared  in  the 
shadow  of  the  church. 

A  big-boned,  slow-moving  man  of  the  best 
country-house-gardener  type,  serviceably  dressed 
in  eorduroy,  wool  bonnet,  and  ribbed  stockings, 

65 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

James  Brown  collided  with  the  small  and  wiry 
landlord,  to  his  own  very  great  embarrassment. 

"Eh,  Maister  Traill,  ye  gied  me  a  turn.  It's 
no*  canny  to  be  proolin'  aboot  the  kirkyaird  i' 
the  gloamin'." 

"Whaur  did  the  bit  dog  go,  man?"  demanded 
the  peremptory  landlord. 

"Dog?  There's  no'  ony  dog  i'  the  kirkyaird. 
It  isna  permeetted.  Gin  it's  a  pussy  ye're  need- 
in',  noo — " 

But  Mr.  Traill  brushed  this  irrelevant  pleas- 
antry aside. 

"Ay,  there's  a  dog.     I  let  him  in  my  ainselV 

The  caretaker  exploded  with  wrath:  "Syne 
I'll  hae  the  law  on  ye.  Can  ye  no'  read,  man?*' 

"Tut,  tut,  Jeemes  Brown.  Don't  stand  there 
arguing.  It's  a  gude  and  necessary  regulation, 
but  it's  no'  the  law  o'  the  land.  I  turned  the 
dog  in  to  settle  a  matter  with  my  ain  conscience, 
and  John  Knox  would  have  done  the  same  thing 
in  the  bonny  face  o'  Queen  Mary.  What  it  is, 
is  nae  beesiness  of  yours.  The  dog  was  a  sma* 
young  terrier  of  the  Highland  breed,  but  with  a 
drop  to  his  ears  and  a  crinkle  in  his  frosty  coat — 
no'  just  an  ordinar'  dog.  I  know  him  weel. 
He  came  to  my  place  to  be  fed,  near  dead  of 
hunger,  then  led  me  here.  If  his  master  lies  in 
this  kirkyard  I'll  tak'  the  bit  dog  awa'  with  me.** 

66 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

Mr.  TraiU's  astonishing  fluency  always  carried 
all  walls  of  resistance  before  it  with  men  of  slower 
wit  and  speech.  Only  a  superior  man  could 
brush  time-honored  rules  aside  so  curtly  and 
stand  on  his  human  rights  so  surely.  James 
Brown  pulled  his  bonnet  off  deferentially, 
scratched  his  shock  head  and  shifted  his  pipe. 
Finally  he  admitted : 

"Weel,  there  was  a  bit  tyke  i'  the  kirkyaird 
twa  days  syne.  I  put  'im  ootf  an'  haena  seen 
'im  aboot  ony  mair."  He  offered,  however,  to 
show  the  new-made  mound  on  which  he  had 
found  the  dog.  Leading  the  way  past  the 
church,  he  went  on  down  the  terraced  slope,  pro- 
longing the  walk  with  conversation,  for  the  guar- 
dianship of  an  old  churchyard  offers  very  little 
such  lively  company  as  John  TraiU's. 

"I  mind,  noo,  it  was  some  puir  body  frae  the 
Coogate,  wi'  no'  ony  mourners  but  the  sma'  ter- 
rier aneath  the  coffin.  I  let  'im  pass,  no'  to  mak' 
a  disturbance  at  a  buryin'.  The  deal  box  was 
fetched  up  by  the  police,  an'  carried  by  sic  a 
crew  o'  gaol-birds  as  wad  mak'  ye  turn  ower  in 
yer  ain  God's  hole.  But  he  paid  for  his  buryin' 
wi'  his  ain  siller,  an'  noo  lies  as  canny  as  the 
nobeelity,  nae  doot.  Here's  the  place,  Maister 
Traill ;  an*  ye  can  see  for  yer  ainsel'  there's  no* 
ony  dog." 

67 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

"Ay,  that  would  be  Auld  Jock  and  Bobby 
would  no'  be  leaving  him,"  insisted  the  landlord, 
stubbornly.  He  stood  looking  down  at  the 
rough  mound  of  frozen  clods  heaped  in  a  little 
space  of  trampled  snow. 

"Jeemes  Brown,"  Mr.  Trail  said,  at  last,  "the 
man  wha  lies  here  was  a  decent,  pious  auld 
country  body,  and  I  drove  him  to  his  meeserable 
death  in  the  Cowgate." 

' '  Man,  ye  dinna  ken  what  ye're  sayin' !"  was  the 
shocked  response. 

^  "Do  I  no'?  I'm  canny,  by  the  ordinar',  but 
my  f ule  tongue  will  get  me  into  trouble  with  the 
magistrates  one  of  these  days.  It  aye  wags  at 
both  ends,  and  is  no'  tied  in  the  middle." 

Then,  stanch  Calvinist  that  he  was,  and  never 
dreaming  that  he  was  indulging  in  the  sinful 
pleasure  of  confession,  Mr.  Traill  poured  out  the 
story  of  Auld  Jock's  plight  and.  of  his  own 
shortcomings.  It  was  a  bitter,  upbraiding  thing 
that  he,  an  uncommonly  capable  man,  had 
meant  so  well  by  a  humble  old  body,  and  done 
so  ill.  And  he  had  failed  again  when  he  tried  to 
undo  the  mischief.  The  very  next  morning  he 
had  gone  down  into  the  perilous  Cowgate,  and 
inquired  in  every  place  where  it  might  be  possible 
for  such  a  timid  old  shepherd  to  be  known. 
But  there!  As  well  look  for  a  burr  thistle  in  a 

63 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

bin  of  oats,  as  look  for  a  human  atom  in  the  Cow- 
gate  and  the  wynds  "juist  aff." 

"Weel,  noo,  ye  couldna  hae  dune  aething  wi' 
the  auld  body,  ava,  gin  he  wouldna  gang  to  the 
infairmary."  The  caretaker  was  trying  to  con- 
sole the  self -accusing  man. 

"Could  I  no'?  Ye  dinna  ken  me  as  weel  as 
ye  micht."  The  disgusted  landlord  tumbled 
into  broad  Scotch.  "Gie  me  to  do  it  ance  mair, 
an'  I'd  chairge  Auld  Jock  wi'  thievin'  ma  siller, 
wi'  a  wink  o'  the  ee  at  the  police  to  mak'  them 
ken  I  was  leein' ;  an'  syne  they'd  hae  hustled  'im 
aff,  willy-nilly,  to  a  snug  bed." 

The  energetic  little  man  looked  so  entirely 
capable  of  any  daring  deed  that  he  fired  the 
caretaker  into  enthusiastic  search  for  Bobby. 
It  was  not  entirely  dark,  for  the  sky  was  studded 
with  stars,  snow  lay  in  broad  patches  on  the 
slope,  and  all  about  the  lower  end  of  the  kirkyard 
supper  candles  burned  at  every  rear  window  of 
the  tall  tenements. 

The  two  men  searched  among  the  near-by  slabs 
and  table-tombs  and  scattered  thorn  bushes. 
They  circled  the  monument  to  all  the  martyrs 
who  had  died  heroically,  in  the  Grassmarket  and 
elsewhere,  for  their  faith.  They  hunted  in  the 
deep  shadows  of  the  buttresses  along  the  side  of 
the  auld  kirk  and  among  the  pillars  of  the  octag- 

6  69 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

onal  portico  to  the  new.  At  the  rear  of  the 
long,  low  building,  that  was  clumsily  partitioned 
across  for  two  pulpits,  stood  the  ornate  tomb  of 
"Bluidy"  McKenzie.  But  Bobby  had  not  com- 
mitted himself  to  the  mercy  of  the  hanging 
judge,  nor  yet  to  the  care  of  the  doughty  minister, 
who,  from  the  pulpit  of  Greyfriars  auld  kirk,  had 
flung  the  blood  and  tear  stained  Covenant  in  the 
teeth  of  persecution. 

The  search  was  continued  past  the  modest 
Scott  family  burial  plot  and  on  to  the  west  wall. 
There  was  a  broad  outlook  over  Heriot's  Hos- 
pital grounds,  a  smooth  and  shining  expanse  of 
unsullied  snow  about  the  early  Elizabethan  pile 
of  buildings.  Returning,  they  skirted  the  lowest 
wall  below  the  tenements,  for  in  the  circling  line 
of  courtyarded  vaults,  where  the  "nobeelity" 
of  Scotland  lay  haughtily  apart  under  time- 
stained  marbles,  were  many  shadowy  nooks 
in  which  so  small  a  dog  could  stow  himself  away. 
Skulking  cats  were  flushed  there,  and  sent  flying 
over  aristocratic  bones,  but  there  was  no  trace 
of  Bobby. 

The  second  tier  of  windows  of  the  tenements 
was  level  with  the  kirkyard  wall,  and  several 
times  Mr.  Traill  called  up  to  a  lighted  casement 
where  a  family  sat  at  a  scant  supper: 

"Have  you  seen  a  bit  dog,  man?" 
70 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

There  was  much  cordial  interest  in  his  quest, 
windows  opening  and  faces  staring  into  the  duskj 
but  not  until  near  the  top  of  the  Row  was  a  clue 
gained.  Then,  at  the  query,  an  unkempt,  ill- 
clad  lassie  slipped  from  her  stool  and  leaned  out 
over  the  pediment  of  a  tomb.  She  had  seen  a 
"wee,  wee  doggie  jinkin'  amang  the  stanes."  It 
was  on  the  Sabbath  evening,  when  the  well- 
dressed  folk  had  gone  home  from  the  afternoon 
services.  She  was  eating  her  porridge  at  the 
window,  "by  her  lane,"  when  he  ^keeked  up  at 
her  so  knowing,  and  begged  so  bonny,"  that  she 
balanced  her  bit  bowl  on  a  lath,  and  pushed  it 
over  on  the  kirkyard  wall.  As  she  finished  the 
story  the  big,  blue  eyes  of  the  little  maid,  who 
doubtless  had  herself  known  what  it  was  to  be 
hungry,  filled  with  tears. 

"The  wee  tyke  couldna  loup  up  to  it,  an'  a 
deil  o'  a  pussy  got  it  a'.  He  was  so  bonny,  like 
a  leddy's  pet,  an*  syne  he  fell  ower  on  the  snaw 
an*  creepit  awa'.  He  didna  cry  oot,  but  he  was 
a*  but  deid  wi'  hunger."  At  the  memory  of  it 
soft-hearted  Ailie  Lindsey  sobbed  on  her  mother's 
shoulder. 

The  tale  was  retold  from  one  excited  window 
to  another,  all  the  way  around  and  all  the  way  up 
to  the  gables,  so  quickly  could  some  incident  of 
human  interest  make  a  social  gathering  in  the 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

populous  tenements.  Most  of  ail,  the  children 
seized  upon  the  touching  story.  Eager  and 
pinched  little  faces  peered  wistfully  into  the 
melancholy  kirkyard. 

"Is  he  yer  ain  dog?"  crippled  Tammy  Barr 
piped  out,  in  his  thin  treble.  "Gin  I  had  a 
bonny  wee  dog  I'd  gie  'im  ma  ain  brose,  an* 
cuddle  'im,  an'  he  couldna  gang  awa'." 

"Nae,  laddie,  he's  no*  my  dog.  His  master 
lies  buried  here,  and  the  leal  Highlander  mourns 
for  him."  With  keener  appreciation  of  its 
pathos  Mr.  Traill  recalled  that  this  was  what 
Auld  Jock  had  said:  "Bobby  isna  ma  ain  dog." 
And  he  was  conscious  of  wishing  that  Bobby  was 
his  own,  with  his  unpurchasable  love  and  a 
loyalty  to  face  starvation.  As  he  mounted  the 
turfed  terraces  he  thought  to  call  back: 

"If  you  see  him  again,  lassie,  call  him  *  Bobby/ 
and  fetch  him  up  to  Greyfriars  Dining-Rooms. 
I  have  a  bright  siller  shulling,  with  the  Queen's 
bonny  face  on  it,  to  give  the  bairn  that  finds 
Bobby." 

There  was  excited  comment  on  this.  He 
must,  indeed,  be  an  attractive  dog  to  be  worth 
a  shulling.  The  children  generously  shared  plans 
for  capturing  Bobby.  But  presently  the  win- 
dows were  closed,  and  supper  was  resumed.  The 
caretaker  was  irritable. 

72 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

"Noo,  ye'll  hae  them  a*  oot  swarmin'  ower  the 
kirkyaird.  There's  nae  coontin'  the  bairns  o1 
the  neeborhood,  an*  nane  o'  them  are  so  weel 
broucht  up  as  they  micht  be." 

Mr.  Traill  commented  upon  this  philosophic- 
ally: "A  bairn  is  like  a  dog  in  mony  ways. 
Tak'  a  stick  to  one  or  the  other  and  he'll  mis- 
behave. The  children  here  are  poor  and  neg- 
lected, but  they're  no*  vicious  like  the  awfu'  imps 
of  the  Cowgate,  wha'd  steal  from  their  blind 
grandmithers.  Get  on  the  gude  side  of  the 
bairns,  man,  and  you'll  live  easier  and  die 
happier." 

It  seemed  useless  to  search  the  much  longer 
arm  of  the  kirkyard  that  ran  southward  behind 
the  shops  of  Greyfriars  Place  and  Forest  Road. 
If  Bobby  was  in  the  inclosure  at  all  he  would 
not  be  far  from  Auld  Jock's  grave.  Nearest  the 
new-made  mound  were  two  very  old  and  dark 
table-tombs.  The  farther  one  lay  horizontally, 
on  its  upright  ''through  stanes,"  some  distance 
above  the  earth.  The  supports  of  the  other  had 
fallen,  and  the  table  lay  on  their  thickness  within 
six  inches  of  the  ground.  Mr.  Traill  and  the 
caretaker  sat  upon  this  slab,  which  testified  to 
the  piety  and  worth  of  one  Mistress  Jean  Grant, 
Who  had  died  "lang  syne." 

Encroached  upon,  as  it  was,  by  unlovely  life, 
73, 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

Greyfriars  kirkyard  was  yet  a  place  of  solitude 
and  peace.  The  building  had  the  dignity  that 
only  old  age  can  give.  It  had  lost  its  tower  by 
an  explosion  of  gunpowder  stored  there  in  war 
time,  and  its  walls  and  many  of  the  ancient 
tombs  bore  the  marks  of  fire  and  shot.  Within 
the  last  decade  some  of  the  Gothic  openings  had 
been  filled  with  beautiful  memorial  windows. 
Despite  the  horrors  and  absurdities  and  mutila- 
tion of  much  of  the  funeral  sculpturing,  the  kirk- 
yard  had  a  sad  distinction,  such  as  became  its 
fame  as  Scotland's  Westminster.  And  there  was 
one  heavenward  outlook  and  heavenly  view. 
Over  the  tallest  decaying  tenement  one  could 
look  up  to  the  Castle  of  dreams  on  the  crag,  and 
drop  the  glance  all  the  way  down  the  pinnacled 
crest  of  High  Street,  to  the  dark  and  deserted 
Palace  of  Holyrood.  After  nightfall  the  tur- 
reted  heights  wore  a  luminous  crown,  and  the 
steep  ridge  up  to  it  twinkled  with  myriad  lights. 
After  a  time  the  caretaker  offered  a  well- 
considered  opinion. 

"The  dog  maun  hae  left  the  kirkyaird.  Thae 
terriers  are  aye  barkin'.  It'd  be  maist  michty 
noo,  gin  he'd  be  so  lang  i'  the  kirkyaird,  an*  no* 
mak'  a  blatterin'." 

As  a  man  of  superior  knowledge  Mr.  Traill 
found  pleasure  in  upsetting  this  theory.  "The 

74 


GREYFRIARS   BOBBY 

Highland  breed  are  no*  like  ordinar'  terriers. 
Noisy  enough  to  deave  one,  by  nature,  give  a  bit 
Skye  a  reason  and  he'll  lie  a*  the  day  under  a 
whin  bush  on  the  brae,  as  canny  as  a  fox.  You 
gave  Bobby  a  reason  for  hiding  here  bv  turning 
him  out.  And  Auld  Jock  was  a  vera  releegious 
man.  It  would  no'  be  surprising  if  he  taught 
Bobby  to  hold  his  tongue  in  a  kirkyard." 

"Man,  he  did  that  vera  thing."  James 
Brown  brought  his  fist  down  on  his  knee;  for 
suddenly  he  identified  Bobby  as  the  snappy  little 
ruffian  that  had  chased  the  cat  and  bitten  his 
shins,  and  Auld  Jock  as  the  scandalized  shepherd 
who  had  rebuked  the  dog  so  bitterly.  He  re- 
lated the  incident  with  gusto. 

"The  auld  man  cried  oot  on  the  misbehavin' 
tyke  to  haud  'is  gab.  Syne,  ye  ne'er  saw  the 
bit  dog's  like  for  a  bairn  that'd  haen  a  lickin'. 
He'd  'a'  gaen  into  a  pit,  gin  there'd  been  ane,  an* 
pu'd  it  in  ahind  'im.  I  turned  'em  baith  oot,  an* 
told  'em  no'  to  come  back.  Eh,  man,  it's  fear- 
some hoo  ilka  body  comes  to  a  kirkyaird,  toes 
afore  'im,  in  a  long  box." 

Mr.  Brown  was  sobered  by  this  grim  thought 
and  then,  in  his  turn,  he  confessed  a  slip  to  this 
tolerant  man  of  the  world.  "The  wee  deil  o'  a 
sperity  dog  nipped  me  so  I  let  oot  an  aith." 

"Ay,  that's  Bobby.  He  would  no'  be  afraid 
7S 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

of  onything  with  hide  or  hair  on  it.  Man,  tha 
Skye  terriers  go  into  dens  of  foxes  and  wildcats, 
and  worry  bulls  till  they  tak'  to  their  heels. 
And  Bobby 's  sagacious  by  the  ordinar'."  He 
thought  intently  for  a  moment,  and  then  spoke 
naturally,  and  much  as  Auld  Jock  himself  might 
have  spoken  to  the  dog. 

"Whaur  are  ye,  Bobby?  Come  awa*  oot, 
laddie!" 

Instantly  the  little  dog  stood  before  him  like 
some  conjured  ghost.  He  had  slipped  from 
under  the  slab  on  which  they  were  sitting.  It 
lay  so  near  the  ground,  and  in  such  a  mat  of 
dead  grass,  that  it  had  not  occurred  to  them  to 
look  for  him  there.  He  came  up  to  Mr.  Traill 
confidingly,  submitted  to  having  his  head  patted, 
and  looked  pleadingly  at  the  caretaker.  Then, 
thinking  he  had  permission  to  do  so,  he  lay  down 
on  the  mound.  James  Brown  dropped  his  pipe. 

"It's  maist  michty!"  he  said. 

Mr.  Traill  got  to  his  feet  briskly.  "I'll  just 
tak'  the  dog  with  me,  Mr.  Brown.  On  market- 
day  I'll  find  the  farmer  that  owns  him  and  send 
him  hame.  As  you  say,  a  kirkyard's  nae  place 
for  a  dog  to  be  living  neglected.  Come  awa\ 
Bobby." 

Bobby  looked  up,  but,  as  he  made  no  motion 
to  obey,  Mr.  Traill  stooped  and  lifted 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

From  sheer  surprise  at  this  unexpected  move  the 
little  dog  lay  still  a  moment  on  the  man's  arm. 
Then,  with  a  lithe  twist  of  his  muscular  body  and 
a  spring,  he  was  on  the  ground,  trembling,  re- 
proachful for  the  breach  of  faith,  but  braced  for 
resistance. 

"Eh,  you're  no'  going?"  Mr.  Traill  put  h.'S 
hands  in  his  pockets,  looked  down  at  Bobby  ad- 
miringly, and  sighed.  "There's  a  dog  after  my 
ain  heart,  and  he'll  have  naething  to  do  with  me. 
He  has  a  mind  of  his  ain.  I'll  just  have  to  be 
leaving  him  here  the  two  days,  Mr.  Brown." 

"Ye  wullna  leave  'im!  Ye'll  tak'  'im  wi'  ye, 
or  I'll  hae  to  put  'im  oot.  Man,  I  couldna  haud 
the  place  gin  I  brak  the  rules." 

*  *  You — will — no* —  put — the — wee — dog — 
out!"  Mr.  Traill  shook  a  playful,  emphatic  finger 
under  the  big  man's  nose. 

"Why  wull  I  no'?" 

"Because,  man,  you  have  a  vera  soft  heart, 
and  you  canna  deny  it."  It  was  with  a  genial, 
confident  smile  that  Mr.  Traill  made  this  terrible 
accusation. 

"Ma  heart's  no'  so  saft  as  to  permit  a  bit  dog 
to  scandalize  the  deid."  ^ 

"He's  been  here  two  days,  you  no'  knowing  it, 
and  he  has  scandalized  neither  the  dead  nor  the 
living.  He's  as  leal  as  ony  Covenanter  here,  and 

77 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

better  conducted  than  mony  a  laird.  He's  no* 
the  quarrelsome  kind,  but,  man,  for  a  preencipie 
he'd  fight  like  auld  Clootie. "  Here  the  land- 
lord's heat  gave  way  to  pure  enjoyment  of  the 
situation.  "Eh,  I'd  like  to  see  you  put  him  out. 
It  would  be  another  Flodden  Field." 

The  angry  caretaker  shrugged  his  broad 
shoulders. 

"Ye  can  see  it,  gin  ye  stand  by,  in  juist  ane 
meenit.  Fecht  as  he  may,  it  wull  soon  be  ower." 

Mr.  Traill  laughed  easily,  and  ventured  the 
opinion  that  Mr.  Brown's  bark  was  worse  than 
his  bite.  As  he  went  through  the  gateway  he 
could  not  resist  calling  back  a  challenge:  "I 
daur  you  to  do  it." 

Mr.  Brown  locked  the  gate,  went  sulkily  into 
the  lodge,  lighted  his  cutty  pipe,  and  smoked  it 
furiously.  He  read  a  Psalm  with  deliberation, 
poked  up  an  already  bright  fire,  and  glowered  at 
his  placid  gude  wife.  It  was  not  to  be  borne — 
to  be  defied  by  a  ten-inch-high  terrier,  and  dared, 
by  a  man  a  third  under  his  own  weight,  to  do  his 
duty.  After  an  hour  or  so  he  worked  himself 
up  to  the  point  of  going  out  and  slamming  the 
door. 

At  eight  o'clock  Mr.  Traill  found  Bobby  on  the 
pavement  outside  the  locked  gate.  He  was  not 
sorry  that  the  fortunes  of  unequal  battle  had 

78 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

thrown  the  faithful  little  dog  on  his  hospitality. 
Bobby  begged  piteously  to  be  put  inside,  but  he 
seemed  to  understand  at  last  that  the  gate 
was  too  high  for  Mr.  Traill  to  drop  him  over. 
He  followed  the  landlord  up  to  the  restaurant 
willingly.  He  may  have  thought  this  champion 
had  another  solution  of  the  difficulty,  for  when 
he  saw  the  man  settle  comfortably  in  a  chair  he 
refused  to  lie  on  the  hearth.  He  ran  to  the  door 
and  back,  and  begged  and  whined  to  be  let  out. 
For  a  long  time  he  stood  dejectedly.  He  was 
not  sullen,  for  he  ate  a  light  supper  and  thanked 
his  host  with  much  polite  wagging,  and  he  even 
allowed  himself  to  be  petted.  Suddenly  he 
thought  of  something,  trotted  briskly  off  to  a 
corner  and  crouched  there. 

Mr.  Traill  watched  the  attractive  little  creature 
with  interest  and  growing  affection.  Very  likely 
he  indulged  in  a  day-dream  that,  perhaps,  the 
tenant  of  Cauldbrae  farm  could  be  induced  to 
part  with  Bobby  for  a  consideration,  and  that  he 
himself  could  win  the  dog  to  transfer  his  love 
from  a  cold  grave  to  a  warm  hearth. 

With  a  spring  the  rat  was  captured.  A  jerk 
of  the  long  head  and  there  was  proof  of  Bobby's 
prowess  to  lay  at  his  good  friend's  feet.  Made 
much  of,  and  in  a  position  to  ask  fresh  favors, 
the  little  dog  was  off  to  the  door  with  cheerful, 

79 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

staccato  barks.  His  reasoning  was  as  plain  as 
print:  "I  hae  done  ye  a  service,  noo  tak'  me 
back  to  the  kirkyaird." 

Mr.  Traill  talked  to  him  as  he  might  have 
reasoned  with  a  bright  bairn.  Bobby  listened 
patiently,  but  remained  of  the  same  mind.  At 
last  he  moved  away,  disappointed  in  this  human 
person,  discouraged,  but  undefeated  in  his  pur- 
pose. He  lay  down  by  the  door.  Mr.  Traill 
watched  him,  for  if  any  chance  late  comer  opened 
the  door  the  masterless  little  dog  would  be  out 
into  the  perils  of  the  street.  Bobby  knew  what 
doors  were  for  and,  very  likely,  expected  some 
such  release.  He  waited  a  long  time  patiently. 
Then  he  began  to  run  back  and  forth.  He  put 
his  paws  upon  Mr.  Traill  and  whimpered  and 
cried.  Finally  he  howled. 

It  was  a  dreadful,  dismal,  heartbroken  howl 
that  echoed  back  from  the  walls.  He  howled 
continuously,  until  the  landlord,  quite  distracted, 
and  concerned  about  the  peace  of  his  neighbors, 
thrust  Bobby  into  the  dark  scullery  at  the  rear, 
and  bade  him  stop  his  noise.  For  fully  ten 
minutes  the  dog  was  quiet.  He  was  probably 
engaged  in  exploring  his  new  quarters  to  find 
an  outlet.  Then  he  began  to  howl  again.  It 
was  truly  astonishing  that  so  small  a  dog  could 
make  so  large  a  noise. 

Sc 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

A  battle  was  on  between  the  endurance  of  the 
man  and  the  persistence  of  the  terrier.  Mr. 
Traill  was  speculating  on  which  was  likely  to  be 
victor  in  the  contest,  when  the  front  door  was 
opened  and  the  proprietor  of  the  Book  Hunter's 
Stall  put  in  a  bare,  bald  head  and  the  abstracted 
face  of  the  book- worm  that  is  mildly  amused. 

"Have  you  tak'n  to  a  dog  at  your  time  o' 
life,  Mr.  Traill?" 

"Ay,  man,  and  it  ;vould  be  all  right  if  the  bit 
dog  would  just  tak'  to  me." 

This  pleasantry  annoyed  a  good  man  who  had 
small  sense  of  humor,  and  he  remarked  testily; 
"The  barkin'  disturbs  my  customers  so  they 
canna  read."  The  place  was  a  resort  for  student 
laddies  who  had  to  be  saving  of  candles. 

"That's  no'  right,"  the  landlord  admitted, 
sympathetically.  '  * '  Reading  mak'th  a  full  man. ' 
Eh,  what  a  deeference  to  the  warld  if  Robbie 
Burns  had  aye  preferred  a  book  to  a  bottle." 
The  bookseller  refused  to  be  beguiled  from  his 
just  cause  of  complaint  into  the  flowery  meads 
of  literary  reminiscences  and  speculations. 

"You'll  stop  that  dog's  deaving  noise,  Mr. 
Traill,  or  I'll  appeal  to  the  Burgh  police." 

The  landlord  returned  a  bland  and  child-like 
smile.  "You'd  be  weel  within  your  legal  rights 
to  do  it,  neebor." 

81 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

The  door  was  shut  with  such  a  business  -  lik* 
click  that  the  situation  suddenly  became  serious. 
Bobby's  vocal  powers,  however,  gave  no  signs 
of  diminishing.  Mr.  Traill  quieted  the  dog  for  a 
few  moments  by  letting  him  into  the  outer  room, 
but  the  swiftness  and  energy  with  which  he  re- 
newed his  attacks  on  the  door,  and  on  the  man's 
will,  showed  plainly  that  the  truce  was  only 
temporary.  He  did  not  know  what  he  meant 
to  do  except  that  he  certainly  had  no  intention 
of  abandoning  the  little  dog.  To  gain  time  he 
put  on  his  hat  and  coat,  picked  Bobby  up,  and 
opened  the  door.  The  thought  occurred  to  him 
to  try  the  gate  at  the  upper  end  of  the  kirkyard 
or,  that  failing,  to  get  into  Heriot's  Hospital 
grounds  and  put  Bobby  over  the  wall.  As  he 
opened  the  door,  however,  he  heard  Geordie 
Ross's  whistle  around  the  bend  in  Forest  Road. 

"Hey,  laddie!"  he  called.  "Come  awa'  in  a 
meenit."  When  the  sturdy  boy  was  inside,  and 
the  door  safely  shut,  he  began  in  his  most  guile- 
less and  persuasive  tone:  "Would  you  like  to 
earn  a  shulling,  Geordie?" 

"Ay,  I  would.  Gie  it  to  me  i'  pennies  an'  ha'- 
pennies, Maister  Traill.  It  seems  mair,  an* 
mak's  a  braw  jinglin'  in  a  pocket." 

The  price  was  paid  and  the  tale  told.  The 
quick  championship  of  the  boy  was  engaged  for 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

•the  gallant  dog,  and  Geordie's  eyes  sparkled  at 
the  prospect  of  dark  adventure.  Bobby  was  on 
the  floor  listening,  ears  and  eyes,  brambly  muzzle 
and  feathered  tail  alert.  He  listened  with  his 
whole,  small,  excited  body,  and  hung  on  the 
answer  to  the  momentous  question. 

•  "  Is  there  no;  a  way  to  smuggle  the  bit  dog  into 
thekirkyard?" 

It  appeared  that  nothing  was  easier,  "aince  ye 
ken  hoo."  Did  Mr.  Traill  know  of  the  internal 
highway  through  the  old  Cunzie  Neuk  at  the 
bottom  of  the  Row  ?  One  went  up  the  stairs  on 
the  front  to  the  low,  timbered  gallery,  then 
through  a  passage  as  black  as  "Bluidy"  McKen- 
zie's  heart.  At  the  end  of  that  one  came  to  a 
peep-hole  of  a  window,  set  out  on  wooden  brack- 
ets, that  hung  right  over  the  kirkyard  wall. 
From  that  window  Bobby  could  be  dropped  on 
a  certain  noble  vault,  from  which  he  could  jump 
to  the  ground. 

"Twa  meenits'  wark,  stout  hearts,  sleekit  foot- 
staps,  an*  the  fearsome  deed  is  done,"  declared 
twelve  -  year  -  old  Geordie,  whose  sense  of  the 
dramatic  matched  his  daring. 

But  when  the  deed  was  done,  and  the  two 
stood  innocently  on  the  brightly  lighted  approach 
to  the  bridge,  Mr.  Traill  had  his  misgivings.  A 
well-respected  business  man  and  church-member, 

83 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

he  felt  uneasy  to  be  at  the  mercy  of  a  laddie  who 
might  be  boastful. 

"Geordie,  if  you  tell  onybody  about  this  I'll 
have  to  give  you  a  licking." 

4 '  I  wullna  tell, ' '  Geordie  reassured  him.  ' '  It's 
no*  so  respectable,  an'  syne  ma  mither'd  gie  me 
anither  lickin',  an'  they'd  gie  me  twa  more  awfu' 
ones,  an'  black  marks  for  a  month,  at  Heriot's." 


WORD  had  been  left  at  all  the  inns  and 
carting  offices  about  both  markets  for  the 
tenant  of  Cauldbrae  farm  to  call  at  Mr.  Traiirs 
place  for  Bobby.  The  man  appeared  Wednesday 
afternoon,  driving  a  big  Clydesdale  horse  to  a 
stout  farm  cart.  The  low-ceiled  dining-room 
suddenly  shrank  about  the  big-boned,  long-legged 
hill  man.  The  fact  embarrassed  him,  as  did  also 
a  voice  cultivated  out  of  all  proportion  to  town 
houses,  by  shouting  to  dogs  and  shepherds  on 
windy  shoulders  of  the  Pentlands. 
^  "Hae  ye  got  the  dog  wi'  ye?" 

Mr.  Traill  pointed  to  Bobby,  deep  in  a  blissful, 
after-dinner  nap  tinder  the  settle. 

The  farmer  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief,  sat  at  a 
table,  and  ate  a  frugal  meal  of  bread  and  cheese. 
As  roughly  dressed  as  Auld  Jock,  in  a  metal- 
buttoned  greatcoat  of  hodden  gray,  a  woolen 
bonnet,  and  the  shepherd's  twofold  plaid,  he 
was  a  different  species  of  human  being  altogether. 
A  long,  lean,  sinewy  man  of  early  middle  age,  he 
had  a  smooth-shaven,  bony  jaw,  far-seeing  gray 

7  85 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

eyes  under  furzy  brows,  and  a  shock  of  auburn 
hair.  When  he  spoke,  it  was  to  give  bits  out  of 
his  own  experience. 

"Thae  terriers  are  usefu'  eneugh  on  an  ordinar* 
fairm  an'  i'  the  toon  to  keep  awa'  the  vermin, 
but  I  wadna  gie  a  twa-penny-bit  for  ane  o*  them 
on  a  sheep-fairm.  There's  a  wee  lassie  at 
Cauldbrae  wha  wants  Bobby  for  a  pet.  It  wasna 
richt  for  Auld  Jock  to  win  'im  awa'  frae  thf 
bairn." 

Mr.  Traill's  hand  was  lifted  in  rebuke.  * '  Speak 
nae  ill,  man;  Auld  Jock's  dead." 

The  farmer's  ruddy  face  blanched  and  he 
dropped  his  knife.  "He's  no'  buried  so  sune?" 

"Ay,  he's  buried  four  days  since  in  Greyfriars 
kirkyard,  and  Bobby  has  slept  every  night  on  the 
auld  man's  grave." 

"I'll  juist  tak'  a  leuk  at  the  grave,  mon,  gin 
ye' 11  hae  an  ee  on  the  dog." 

Mr.  Traill  cautioned  him  not  to  let  the  care- 
taker know  that  Bobby  had  continued  to  sleep 
in  the  kirkyard,  after  having  been  put  out  twice. 
The  farmer  was  back  in  ten  minutes,  with  a 
canny  face  that  defied  reading.  He  lighted  his 
short  Dublin  pipe  and  smoked  it  out  before  he 
spoke  again. 

"It's  ower  grand  for  a  puir  auld  shepherd  body 
to  be  buried  i'  Greyfriars." 

86 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

"No'  so  grand  as  heaven,  I'm  thinking." 
Mr.  Traill's  response  was  dry. 

"Ay,  an'  we're  a'  coontin'  on  gangin'  there; 
but  it's  a  prood  thing  to  hae  yer  banes  put 
awa'  in  Greyfriars,  ance  ye're  through  wi1 
'em!" 

"Nae  doubt  the  gude  auld  man  would  rather 
be  alive  on  the  Pentland  braes  than  dead  in 
Greyfriars." 

"Ay,"  the  farmer  admitted.  "He  was  fair 
fond  o'  the  hills,  an'  no'  likin'  the  toon.  An', 
mon,  he  was  a  wonder  wi'  the  lambs.  He'd  gang 
wi'  a  collie  ower  miles  o'  country  in  roarin' 
weather,  an'  he'd  aye  fetch  the  lost  sheep  hame. 
The  auld  mon  was  nane  so  weel  furnished  i'  the 
heid,  but  bairnies  and  beasts  were  unco'  fond  o' 
'im.  It  wasna  his  fau't  that  Bobby  was  aye  at 
his  heels.  The  lassie  wad  'a'  been  after  'im,  gin 
'er  mither  had  permeeted  it." 

Mr.  Traill  asked  him  why  he  had  let  so  valuable 
a  man  go,  and  the  farmer  replied  at  once  that 
he  was  getting  old  and  could  no  longer  do  the 
winter  work.  To  any  but  a  Scotchman  brought 
up  near  the  sheep  country  this  would  have 
sounded  hard,  but  Mr.  Traill  knew  that  the  farm- 
ers on  the  wild,  tipped-up  moors  were  themselves 
hard  pressed  to  meet  rent  and  taxes.  To  keep 
a  shepherd  incapacitated  by  age  and  liable  tc 

87 


GREYFRIARS   BOBBY 

lose  a  flock  in  a  snow-storm,  was  to  invite  ruin. 
And  presently  the  man  showed,  unwittingly,  how 
sweet  a  kernel  the  heart  may  lie  under  the  shell 
of  sordid  necessity. 

"I  didna  ken  the  auld  man  was  fair  ill  or  he 
micht  hae  bided  at  the  fairm  an*  tak'n  'is  ain 
time  to  dee  at  'is  ease/' 

As  Bobby  unrolled  and  stretched  to  an  awak- 
ening, the  farmer  got  up,  took  him  unaware  and 
thrust  him  into  a  covered  basket.  He  had  no 
intention  of  letting  the  little  creature  give  him 
the  slip  again.  Bobby  howled  at  the  indignity, 
and  struggled  and  tore  at  the  stout  wickerwork. 
It  went  to  Mr.  Train's  heart  to  hear  him,  and  to 
see  the  gallant  little  dog  so  defenseless.  He 
talked  to  him  through  the  latticed  cover  all  the 
way  out  to  the  cart,  telling  him  Auld  Jock  meant 
for  him  to  go  home.  At  that  beloved  name, 
Bobby  dropped  to  the  bottom  of  the  basket  and 
cried  in  such  a  heartbroken  way  that  tears  stood 
in  the  landlord's  eyes,  and  even  the  farmer  con- 
fessed to  a  sudden  "cauld  in  'is  heid." 

"I'd  gie  'im  to  ye,  mon,  gin  it  wasna  that  the 
bit  lassie  wad  greet  her  bonny  een  oot  gin  I  didna 
fetch  'im  hame.  Nae  doot  the  bit  tyke  wad  'a' 
deed  gin  ye  hadna  fed  'im." 

"Eh,  man,  he'll  no'  bide  with  me,  or  I'd  be 
bargaining  for  him.  And  he'll  no*  be  permitted 

88 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

to  live  in  the  kirkyard.  I  know  naething  in  this 
life  more  pitiful  than  a  masterless,  hameless  dog." 
And  then,  to  delay  the  moment  of  parting  with 
Bobby,  who  stopped  crying  and  began  to  lick 
his  hand  in  frantic  appeal  through  a  hole  in  the 
basket,  Mr.  Traill  asked  how  Bobby  came  by  his 
name. 

"It  was  a  leddy  o'  the  neeborhood  o'  Swanston. 
She  cam'  drivin'  by  Cauldbrae  i1  her  bit  cart  wi* 
shaggy  Shetlands  to  it  an'  stapped  at  the  dairy 
for  a  drink  o'  buttermilk  frae  the  kirn.  Syne 
she  saw  the  sonsie  puppy  loupin'  at  Auld  Jock's 
heels,  bonny  as  a  poodle,  but  mair  knowin'. 
The  leddy  gied  me  a  poond  note  for  'im.  I  put 
'im  up  on  the  seat,  an'  she  said  that  noo  she  had 
a  smart  Hieland  groom  to  match  'er  Hieland 
steeds,  an'  she  flicked  the  ponies  wi'  'er  whup. 
Syne  the  bit  dog  was  on  the  airth  an'  flyin'  awa' 
doon  the  road  like  the  deil  was  after  'im.  An' 
the  leddy  lauched  an*  lauched,  an*  went  awa' 
wi'oot  'im.  At  the  fut  o'  the  brae  she  was  still 
lauchin',  an*  she  ca'ed  back:  'Gie  'im  the  name 
o'  Bobby,  gude  mon.  He's  left  the  plow-tail  an's 
aff  to  Edinburgh  to  mak'  his  fame  an'  fortune/ 
I  didna  ken  what  the  leddy  meant." 

"Man,  she  meant  he  was  like  Bobby  Burns." 

Here  was  a  literary  flavor  that  gave  added 

attraction  to  a  man  who  sat  at  the  feet  of  the 

89 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

'Scottish  muses.  The  landlord  sighed  as  he  went 
back  to  the  doorway,  and  he  stood  there  listening 
to  the  clatter  of  the  cart  and  rough-shod  horse 
and  to  the  mournful  howling  of  the  little  dog, 
until  the  sounds  died  away  in  Forest  Road. 

Mr.  Traill  would  have  been  surprised  to  know, 
perhaps,  that  the  confines  of  the  city  were 
scarcely  passed  before  Bobby  stopped  protesting 
and  grieving  and  settled  down  patiently  to  more 
profitable  work.  A  human  being  thus  kidnapped 
and  carried  away  would  have  been  quite  helpless. 
But  Bobby  fitted  his  mop  of  a  black  muzzle  into 
the  largest  hole  of  his  wicker  prison,  and  set  his 
useful  little  nose  to  gathering  news  of  his  where- 
abouts. 

If  it  should  happen  to  a  dog  in  this  day  to  be 
taken  from  Ye  Olde  Greyfriars  Dining-Rooms 
and  carried  southward  out  of  Edinburgh  there 
would  be  two  miles  or  more  of  city  and  suburban 
streets  to  be  traversed  before  coming  to  the  open 
country.  But  a  half  century  or  more  ago  one 
could  stand  at  the  upper  gate  of  Greyfriars  kirk- 
yard  or  Heriot's  Hospital  grounds  and  look  down 
a  slope  dotted  with  semi-rustic  houses,  a  village  or 
two  and  water-mills,  and  then  cultivated  farms, 
all  the  way  to  a  stone-bridged  burn  and  a  toll- 
bar  at  the  bottom  of  the  valley.  This  hillside 
was  the  ancient  Burghmuir  where  King  James 

90 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

of  old  gathered  a  great  host  of  Scots  to  march 
and  fight  and  perish  on  Flodden  Field. 

Bobby  had  not  gone  this  way  homeward  be- 
fore, and  was  puzzled  by  the  smell  of  prosperous 
little  shops,  and  by  the  park-like  odors  from 
college  campuses  to  the  east,  and  from  the  well- 
kept  residence  park  of  George  Square.  But  when 
the  cart  rattled  across  Lauriston  Place  he  picked 
up  the  familiar  scents  of  milk  and  wool  from  the 
cattle  and  sheep  market,  and  then  of  cottage 
dooryards,  of  turned  furrows  and  of  farmsteads. 

The  earth  wears  ever  a  threefold  garment  of 
beauty.  The  human  person  usually  manages  to 
miss  nearly  everything  but  the  appearance  of 
things.  A  few  of  us  are  so  fortunate  as  to  have 
ears  attuned  to  the  harmonies  woven  on  the  wind 
by  trees  and  birds  and  water;  but  the  tricksy 
weft  of  odors  that  lies  closest  of  all,  enfolding  the 
very  bosom  of  the  earth,  escapes  us.  A  little  dog, 
traveling  with  his  nose  low,  lives  in  another 
stratum  of  the  world,  and  experiences  other  pleas- 
ures than  his  master.  He  has  excitements  that 
he  does  his  best  to  share,  and  that  send  him  fly- 
ing in  pursuit  of  phantom  clues. 

Fiom  the  top  of  the  Burghmuir  it  was  easy 
going  to  Bobby.  The  snow  had  gone  off  in  a 
thaw,  releasing  a  multitude  of  autumnal  aromas. 
There  was  a  smell  of  birch  and  beech  buds  sealed 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

up  in  gum,  of  berries  clotted  on  the  rowan-trees, 
and  of  balsam  and  spice  from  plantations  of  High- 
land firs  and  larches.  The  babbling  water  of  the 
burn  was  scented  with  the  dead  bracken  of  glens 
down  which  it  foamed.  Even  the  leafless  hedges 
had  their  woody  odors,  and  stone  dykes  their 
musty  smell  of  decaying  mosses  and  lichens. 

Bobby  knew  the  pause  at  the  toll-bar  in  the 
valley,  and  the  mixed  odors  of  many  passing 
horses  and  men,  there.  He  knew  the  smells  of 
poultry  and  cheese  at  a  dairy-farm;  of  hunting- 
dogs  and  riding-leathers  at  a  sportsman's  tryst- 
ing  inn,  and  of  grist  and  polluted  water  at  a  mill. 
And  after  passing  the  hilltop  toll-bar  of  Fair- 
milehead,  dipping  across  a  narrow  valley  and 
rounding  the  base  of  a  sentinel  peak,  many  tame 
odors  were  left  behind.  At  the  buildings  of  the 
large,  scattered  farms  there  were  smells  of  sheep 
and  dogs  and  barn-yards.  But,  for  the  most 
part,  after  the  road  began  to  climb  over  a  high 
shoulder  of  the  range,  there  was  just  one  wild 
tang  of  heather  and  gorse  and  fern,  tingling  with 
salt  air  from  the  German  Ocean. 

When  they  reached  Cauldbrae  farm,  high  up  on 
the  slope,  it  was  entirely  dark.  Lights  in  the 
small,  deep-set  windows  gave  the  outlines  of  a 
low,  steep-roofed,  stone  farm-house.  Out  of  the 
darkness  a  little  wind-blown  figure  of  a  lassie 

92 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

fled  down  the  brae  to  meet  the  cart,  and  an  eager 
little  voice,  as  clear  as  a  hill-bird's  piping,  cried 
out: 

"Hae  ye  got  ma  ain  Bobby,  faither?" 

"Ay,  lassie,  I  fetched  'im  hame,"  the  fanner 
roared  back,  in  his  big  voice. 

Then  the  cart  was  stopped  for  the  wee  maid  to 
scramble  up  over  a  wheel,  and  there  were  sweet 
little  sounds  of  kissing  and  muffled  little  cud- 
dlings  under  the  warm  plaid.  When  these  soft 
endearments  had  been  attended  to  there  was  time 
for  another  yearning. 

"May  I  haud  wee  Bobby,  faither?" 

"Nae,  lassie,  a  bonny  bit  bairnie  couldna  haud 
'im  in  'er  sma'  airms.  Bobby's  a*  for  gangin* 
awa'  to  leev  in  a  grand  kirkyaird  wi'  Auld  Jock." 

A  little  gasp,  and  a  wee  sob,  and  an  awed 
question:  "Is  gude  Auld  Jock  deid,  daddy?" 

Bobby  heard  it  and  answered  with  a  mournful 
howl.  The  lassie  snuggled  closer  to  the  warm, 
beating  heart,  hid  her  eyes  in  the  rough  plaid,  and 
cried  for  Auld  Jock  and  for  the  grieving  little  dog. 

"Niest  to  faither  an*  mither  an*  big  blither 
Wattie  I  lo'e  Auld  Jock  an'  Bobby."  The 
bairnie's  voice  was  smothered  in  the  plaidie. 
Because  it  was  dark  and  none  were  by  to  see, 
the  reticent  Scot  could  overflow  in  tender  speech. 
His  arm  tightened  around  this  one  little  ewe 

93 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

lamb  of  the  human  fold  on  cold  slope  farm.  He 
comforted  the  child  by  telling  her  how  the} 
would  mak'  it  up  to  Bobby,  and  how  very  soon  a 
wee  dog  forgets  the  keenest  sorrow  and  is  happy 
again. 

The  sheep-dogs  charged  the  cart  with  as  deafen- 
ing a  clamor  of  welcome  as  if  a  home-coming  had 
never  happened  before,  and  raced  the  horse 
across  the  level.  The  kitchen  door  flared  open, 
a  sudden  beacon  to  shepherds  scattered  afar  on 
these  upland  billows  of  heath.  In  a  moment  the 
basket  was  in  the  house,  the  door  snecked,  and 
Bobby  released  on  the  hearth. 

It  was  a  beautiful,  dark  old  kitchen,  with  a 
homely  fire  of  peat  that  glowed  up  to  smoke- 
stained  rafters.  Soon  it  was  full  of  shepherds, 
come  in  to  a  supper  of  brose,  cheese,  milk  and 
bannocks.  Sheep-dogs  sprawled  and  dozed  on 
the  hearth,  so  that  the  gude  wife  complained  of 
their  being  underfoot.  But  she  left  them  undis- 
turbed and  stepped  over  them,  for,  tired  as  they 
were,  they  would  have  to  go  out  again  to  drive 
the  sheep  into  the  fold. 

Humiliated  by  being  brought  home  a  prisoner, 
and  grieving  for  the  forsaken  grave  in  Greyfriars, 
Bobby  crept  away  *;o  a  corner  bench,  on  which 
Auld  Jock  had  always  sat  in  humble  self-efface- 
ment. He  lay  down  under  it,  and  the  little  four- 

94 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 


lassie  sat  on  the  floor  close  beside  him, 
understanding,  and  sorry  with  him.  Her  rough 
brother  Wattie  teased  her  about  wanting  her 
supper  there  on  one  plate  with  Bobby. 

"I  wadna  gang  daft  aboot  a  bit  dog,  Elsie." 

"Leave  the  bairn  by  'er  lane,"  commanded  the 
farmer.  The  mither  patted  the  child's  bright 
head,  and  wiped  the  tears  from  the  bluebell  eyes. 
And  there  was  a  little  sobbing  confidence  poured 
into  a  sympathetic  ear. 

Bobby  refused  to  eat  at  first,  but  by  and  by 
he  thought  better  of  it.  A  little  dog  that  has  his 
life  to  live  and  his  work  to  do  must  have  fuel  to 
drive  the  throbbing  engine  of  his  tiny  heart.  So 
Bobby  very  sensibly  ate  a  good  supper  in  the 
lassie's  company  and,  grateful  for  that  and  for 
her  sympathy,  submitted  to  her  shy  petting. 
But  after  the  shepherds  and  dogs  were  gone  and 
the  farmer  had  come  in  again  from  an  overseeing 
look  about  the  place  the  little  dog  got  up,  trot- 
ted to  the  door,  and  lay  down  by  it.  The 
lassie  followed  him.  With  two  small,  plump 
hands  she  pushed  Bobby's  silver  veil  back,  held 
his  muzzle  and  looked  into  his  sad,  brown  eyes. 

"Oh,  mither,  mither,  Bobby's  greetin',"  she 
cried. 

"Nae,  bonny  wee,  a  sma'  dog  canna  greet." 

"Ay,  he's  greetin'  sair!" 
95 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

A  sudden,  sweet  little  sound  was  dropped  on 
Bobby's  head. 

"Ye  shouldna  kiss  the  bit  dog,  bairnie.  He 
isna  like  a  human  body/' 

"Ay,  a  wee  kiss  is  gude  for  'im.  Farther,  he 
greets  so  I  canna  thole  it."  The  child  fled  to 
comforting  arms  in  the  inglenook  and  cried  her- 
self to  sleep.  The  gude  wife  knitted,  and  the 
gude  mon  smoked  by  the  pleasant  fire.  The  only 
sound  in  the  room  was  the  ticking  of  the  wag-at- 
the-wa'  clock,  for  burning  peat  makes  no  noise 
at  all,  only  a  pungent  whiff  in  the  nostrils,  the 
memory  of  which  gives  a  Scotch  laddie  abroad  a 
fit  of  hamesickness.  Bobby  lay  very  still  and 
watchful  by  the  door.  The  farmer  served  his 
astonishing  news  in  dramatic  bits. 

"Auld  Jock's  deid."  Bobby  stirred  at  that, 
and  flattened  out  on  the  floor. 

"Ay,  the  lassie  told  that,  an*  I  wad  hae  kenned 
it  by  the  dog.  He  is  greetin'  by  the  ordinarV 

"  An*  he's  buried  i'  the  kirkyaird  o'  auld  Grey- 
friars."  Ah,  that  fetched  her!  The  gude  wife 
dropped  her  knitting  and  stared  at  him. 

"There's  a  gairdener,  like  at  the  country- 
hooses  o'  the  gentry,  leevin*  in  a  bit  lodge  by  the 
gate.  He  has  naethin'  to  do,  ava,  but  lock  the 
gate  at  nicht,  put  the  dogs  oot,  an*  mak'  the  posies 
bloom  i*  the  simmer.  Ay,  it's  a  bonny  place." 

06 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

"It's  ower  grand  for  Auld  Jock." 

"Ye  may  weel  say  that.  His  bit  grave  isna 
BO  far  frae  the  martyrs'  monument."  When  the 
grandeur  of  that  had  sunk  in  he  went  on  to  othe* 
incredibilities. 

Presently  he  began  to  chuckle.  "There's  a 
bit  notice  on  the  gate  that  nae  dogs  are  admittet, 
but  Bobby's  sleepit  on  Auld  Jock's  grave  ane 
— twa — three — fower  nichts,  an'  the  gairdener 
doesna  ken  it,  ava.  He's  a  canny  beastie." 

"Ay,  he  is.  Folk  wull  be  comin'  frae  miles 
aroond  juist  to  leuk  at  the  sperity  bit.  Ilka 
body  aboot  kens  Auld  Jock.  It'  11  be  maist 
michty  news  to  tell  at  the  kirk  on  the  Sabbath, 
that  he's  buried  i'  Greyfriars." 

Through  all  this  talk  Bobby  had  lain  quietly 
by  the  door,  in  the  expectation  that  it  would  be 
unlatched.  Impatient  of  delay,  he  began  to 
whimper  and  to  scratch  on  the  panel.  The  lassie 
opened  her  blue  eyes  at  that,  scrambled  down, 
and  ran  to  him.  Instantly  Bobby  was  up,  tug- 
ging at  her  short  little  gown  and  begging  to  be 
let  out.  When  she  clasped  her  chubby  arms 
around  his  neck  and  tried  to  comfort  him  he 
struggled  free  and  set  up  a  dreadful  howling. 

"Hoots,  Bobby,  stap  yer  havers!"  shouted  the 
farmer. 

"Eh,  lassie,  he'll  deave  us  a'.  We'll  juist  hae 
97 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

to  put  'im  i'  the  byre  wi'  the  coos  for  the  nicht," 
cried  the  distracted  mither. 

"I  want  Bobby  i'  the  bed  wi'  me.  I'll  cuddle 
'im  an'  lo'e  'im  till  he  staps  greetin'." 

"Nae,  bonny  wee,  he  wullna  stap."  The 
farmer  picked  the  child  up  on  one  arm,  gripped 
the  dog  under  the  other,  and  the  gude  wife  went 
before  with  a  lantern,  across  the  dark  farm- 
yard to  the  cow-barn.  When  the  stout  door 
was  unlatched  there  was  a  smell  of  warm  animals, 
of  milk,  and  cured  hay,  and  the  sound  of  full, 
contented  breathings  that  should  have  brought 
a  sense  of  companionship  to  a  grieving  little 
creature. 

"Bobby  wullna  be  lanely  here  wi'  the  coos, 
bairnie,  an*  i'  the  morn  ye  can  tak'  a  bit  rope 
an'  haud  it  in  a  wee  hand  so  he  canna  brak  awa', 
an'  syne,  in  a  day  or  twa,  he'll  be  forgettin'  Auld 
Jock.  Ay,  ye' 11  hae  grand  times  wi'  the  sonsie 
doggie,  rinnin*  an*  loupin'  on  the  braes." 

This  argument  was  so  convincing  and  so 
attractive  that  the  little  maid  dried  her  tears, 
kissed  Bobby  on  the  head  again,  and  made  a  bed 
of  heather  for  him  in  a  corner.  But  as  they  were 
leaving  the  byre  fresh  doubts  assailed  her. 

"He'll  gang  awa'  gin  ye  dinna  tie  'im  snug  the 
nicht,  faither." 

"Sic  a  fulish  bairn!  Wi'  fower  wa's  aroond 
98 


GREYFRIARS    BCBBY 

'im,  an*  a  roof  to  'is  heid,  an'  a  floor  to  'is  fut, 
hoo  could  a  sma'  dog  mak'  a  way  oot  ?" 

It  was  a  foolish  notion,  bred  of  fond  anxiety ,  and 
so,  reassured,  the  child  went  happily  back  to  the 
house  and  to  rosy  sleep  in  her  little  closet  bed. 

Ah !  here  was  a  warm  place  in  a  cold  world  for 
Bobby.  A  soft-hearted  little  mistress  and  merry 
playmate  was  here,  generous  food,  and  human 
society  of  a  kind  that  was  very  much  to  a  little 
farm  dog's  liking.  Here  was  freedom — wide 
moors  to  delight  his  scampering  legs,  adventures 
with  rabbits,  foxes,  hares  and  moor-fowl,  and 
great  spaces  where  no  one's  ears  would  be  of- 
fended by  his  loudest,  longest  barking.  Besides, 
Auld  Jock  had  said,  with  his  last  breath,  "Gang 
— awa' — hame — laddie!"  It  is  not  to  be  sup- 
posed Bobby  had  forgotten  that,  since  he  re- 
membered and  obeyed  every  other  order  of  that 
beloved  voice.  But  there,  self-interest,  love  of 
liberty,  and  the  instinct  of  obedience,  even,  sank 
into  the  abysses  of  the  little  creature's  mind.  Up 
to  the  top  rose  the  overmastering  necessity  of 
guarding  the  bit  of  sacred  earth  that  covered 
his  master. 

The  byre  was  no  sooner  looked  than  Bobby 
began,  in  the  pitch  darkness,  to  explore  the  walls. 
The  single  promise  of  escape  that  was  offered 
was  an  inch-wide  crack  under  the  door,  where 

99 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

the  flooring  stopped  short  and  exposed  a  strip 
of  earth.  That  would  have  appalled  any  but 
a  desperate  little  dog.  The  crack  was  so  small 
as  to  admit  but  one  paw,  at  first,  and  the  earth 
was  packed  as  hard  as  wood  by  generations  of 
trampling  cattle. 

There  he  began  to  dig.  He  came  of  a  breed  of 
dogs  used  by  farmers  and  hunters  to  dig  small, 
burrowing  animals  out  of  holes,  a  breed  whose 
courage  and  persistence  know  no  limit.  He  dug 
patiently,  steadily,  hour  after  hour,  enlarging  the 
hole  by  inches.  Now  and  then  he  had  to  stop  to 
rest.  "When  he  was  able  to  use  both  forepaws 
he  made  encouraging  progress ;  but  when  he  had 
to  reach  under  the  door,  quite  the  length  of  his 
stretched  legs,  and  drag  every  bit  of  earth  back 
into  the  byre,  the  task  must  have  been  impos- 
sible to  any  little  creature  not  urged  by  utter 
misery.  But  Skye  terriers  have  been  known  to 
labor  with  such  fury  that  they  have  perished  of 
their  own  exertions.  Bobby's  nose  sniffed  liberty 
long  before  he  could  squeeze  his  weasel-like  body 
through  the  tunnel.  His  back  bruised  and 
strained  by  the  struggle  through  a  hole  too 
small,  he  stood,  trembling  with  exhaustion,  in  the 
windy  dawn. 

An  opening  door,  a  barking  sheep-dog,  the 
shuffle  of  the  moving  flock,  were  signs  that  tho 

xoo 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

farm  day  was  beginning,  although  all  the  stars 
had  not  faded  out  of  the  sky,  A  little  flying 
shadow,  Bobby  slipped  out  of  the  cow-yard, 
past  the  farm-house,  and  literally  tumbled 
down  the  brae.  From  one  level  to  another  he 
dropped,  several  hundred  feet  in  a  very  few 
minutes,  and  from  the  clear  air  of  the  breezy  hill- 
top to  a  nether  world  that  was  buried  fathoms 
deep  in  a  sea-fog  as  white  as  milk. 

Hidden  in  a  deep  fold  of  the  spreading  skirts  of 
the  range,  and  some  distance  from  the  road,  lay 
a  pool,  made  by  damming  a  burn,  and  used,  in  the 
shearing  season,  for  washing  sheep.  Surrounded 
by  brushy  woods,  and  very  damp  and  dark,  at 
other  seasons  it  was  deserted.  Bobby  found  this 
secluded  place  with  his  nose,  curled  up  under  a 
hazel  thicket  and  fell  sound  asleep.  And  while 
he  slept,  a  nipping  wind  from  the  far,  northern 
Highlands  swooped  down  on  the  mist  and  sent  it 
flying  out  to  sea.  The  Lowlands  cleared  like 
magic.  From  the  high  point  where  Bobby  lay 
the  road  could  be  seen  to  fall,  by  short  rises  and 
long  descents,  all  the  way  to  Edinburgh.  From 
its  crested  ridge  and  flanking  hills  the  city  trailed 
a  dusky  banner  of  smoke  out  over  the  fishing  fleet 
in  the  Firth. 

A  little  dog  cannot  see  such  distant  views. 
Bobby  could  only  read  and  follow  the  guide- 

8  XOI 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

posts  of  odors  along  the  way.  He  had  begun  the 
ascent  to  the  toll-bar  when  he  heard  the  clatter 
of  a  cart  and  the  pounding  of  hoofs  behind  him. 
He  did  not  wait  to  learn  if  this  was  the  Cauldbrae 
farmer  in  pursuit.  Certain  knowledge  on  that 
point  was  only  to  be  gained  at  his  peril.  He 
sprang  into  the  shelter  of  a  stone  wall,  scrambled 
over  it,  worked  his  way  along  it  a  short  distance, 
and  disappeared  into  a  brambly  path  that 
skirted  a  burn  in  a  woody  dell. 

Immediately  the  little  dog  was  lost  in  an  un- 
explored country.  The  narrow  glen  was  musical 
with  springs,  and  the  low  growth  was  undercut 
with  a  maze  of  rabbit  runs,  very  distracting  to  a 
dog  of  a  hunting  breed.  Bobby  knew,  by  much 
journeying  with  Auld  Jock,  that  running  water  is 
a  natural  highway.  Sheep  drift  along  the  low- 
est level  until  they  find  an  outlet  down  some 
declivity,  or  up  some  foaming  steep,  to  new 
pastures. 

But  never  before  had  Bobby  found,  above  such 
a  rustic  brook,  a  many  chimneyed  and  gabled 
house  of  stone,  set  in  a  walled  garden  and  swathed 
in  trees.  To-day,  many  would  cross  wide  seas  to 
look  upon  Swanston  cottage,  in  whose  odorous  old 
garden  a  whey-faced,  wistful-eyed  laddie  dreamed 
so  many  brave  and  laughing  dreams.  It  was  only 
a  farm-house  then,  fallen  from  a  more  romantic 

XO2 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

history,  and  it  had  no  attraction  for  Bobby.  He 
merely  sniffed  at  dead  vines  of  clematis,  sleeping 
briar  bushes,  and  very  live,  bright  hedges  of 
holly,  rounded  a  corner  of  its  wall,  and  ran  into  a 
group  of  lusty  children  romping  on  the  brae, 
below  the  very  prettiest,  thatch-roofed  and  hill- 
sheltered  hamlet  within  many  a  mile  of  Edin- 
boro'  town.  The  bairns  were  lunching  from 
grimy,  mittened  hands,  gypsy  fashion,  life  being 
far  too  short  and  playtime  too  brief  for  formal 
meals.  Seeing  them  eating,  Bobby  suddenly  dis- 
covered that  he  was  hungry.  He  rose  before  a 
well-provided  laddie  and  politely  begged  for  a 
share  of  his  meal. 

Such  an  excited  shouting  of  admiration  and 
calling  on  mithers  to  come  and  see  the  bonny  wee 
dog  was  never  before  heard  on  Swanston  village 
green.  Doors  flew  open  and  bareheaded  women 
ran  out.  Then  the  babies  had  to  be  brought, 
and  the  old  grandfaithers  and  grandmithers. 
Everybody  oh-ed  and  ah-ed  and  clapped  hands, 
and  doubled  up  with  laughter,  for,  a  tempting  bit 
held  playfully  just  out  of  reach,  Bobby  rose,  again 
and  again,  jumped  for  it,  and  chased  a  teasing 
laddie.  Then  he  bethought  him  to  roll  over  and 
over,  and  to  go  through  other  winsome  little 
tricks,  as  Auld  Jock  had  taught  him  to  do,  to  win 
the  reward.  All  this  had  one  quite  unexpected 

103 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

result.  A  shrewd-eyed  woman  pounced  upon 
Bobby  and  captured  him. 

"He's  no'  an  ordinar'  dog.  Some  leddy  has 
lost  her  pet.  I'll  juist  shut  'im  up,  an'  syne 
she'll  pay  a  shullin'  or  twa  to  get  'im  again." 

With  a  twist  and  a  leap  Bobby  was  gone.  He 
scrambled  straight  up  the  steep,  thorn-clad  wall 
of  the  glen,  where  no  laddie  could  follow,  and 
was  over  the  crest.  It  was  a  narrow  escape, 
made  by  terrific  effort.  His  little  heart  pound- 
ing with  exhaustion  and  alarm,  he  hid  under  a 
whin  bush  to  get  his  breath  and  strength.  The 
sheltered  dell  was  windless,  but  here  a  stiff  breeze 
blew.  Suddenly  shifting  a  point,  the  wind 
brought  to  the  little  dog's  nose  a  whiff  of  the 
acrid  coal  smoke  of  Edinburgh  three  miles  away. 

Straight  as  an  arrow  he  ran  across  country, 
over  roadway  and  wall,  plowed  fields  and  rippling 
burns.  He  scrambled  under  hedges  and  dashed 
across  farmsteads  and  cottage  gardens.  As  he 
neared  the  city  the  hour  bells  aided  him,  for  the 
Skye  terrier  is  keen  of  hearing.  It  was  grow- 
ing dark  when  he  climbed  up  the  last  bank  and 
gained  Lauriston  Place.  There  he  picked  up 
the  odors  of  milk  and  wool,  and  the  damp  smell 
of  the  kirkyard. 

Now  for  something  comforting  to  put  into  his 
famished  little  body.  A  night  and  a  day  of 

104 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

exhausting  work,  of  anxiety  and  grief,  had  used 
up  the  last  ounce  of  fuel.  Bobby  raced  down 
Forest  Road  and  turned  the  slight  angle  into 
Greyfriars  Place.  The  lamp-lighter's  progress 
toward  the  bridge  was  marked  by  the  double  row 
of  lamps  that  bloomed,  one  after  one,  on  the 
dusk.  The  little  dog  had  come  to  the  steps  of 
Mr.  Train's  place,  and  lifted  himself  to  scratch 
on  the  door,  when  the  bugle  began  to  blow.  He 
dropped  with  the  first  note  and  dashed  to  the 
kirkyard  gate. 

None  too  soon!  Mr.  Brown  was  setting  the 
little  wicket  gate  inside,  against  the  wall.  In 
the  instant  his  back  was  turned,  Bobby  slipped 
through.  After  nightfall,  when  the  caretaker 
had  made  his  rounds,  he  came  out  from  under 
the  fallen  table-tomb  of  Mistress  Jean  Grant. 

Lights  appeared  at  the  rear  windows  of  the 
tenements,  and  families  sat  at  supper.  It  was 
snell  weather  again,  the  sky  dark  with  threat  of 
snow,  and  the  windows  were  all  closed.  But 
with  a  sharp  bark  beneath  the  lowest  of  them 
Bobby  could  have  made  his  presence  and  his 
wants  known.  He  watched  the  people  eating, 
sitting  wistfully  about  on  his  haunches  here  and 
there,  but  remaining  silent.  By  and  by  there 
were  sounds  of  crying  babies,  of  crockery  being 
washed,  and  the  ringing  of  church  bells  far  and 

10$ 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

near.  Then  the  lights  were  extinguished,  and 
huge  bulks  of  shadow,  of  tenements  and  kirk, 
engulfed  the  kirkyard. 

When  Bobby  lay  down  on  Auld  Jock's  grave, 
pellets  of  frozen  snow  were  falling  and  the  ail 
had  hardened  toward  frost. 


SLEEP  alone  goes  far  to  revive  a  little  dog, 
and  fasting  sharpens  the  wits.  Bobby  was 
so  tired  that  he  slept  soundly,  but  so  hungry  that 
he  woke  early,  and  instantly  alert  to  his  situa- 
tion. It  was  so  very  early  of  a  dark  winter  morn- 
ing that  not  even  the  sparrows  were  out  foraging 
in  the  kirkyard  for  dry  seeds.  The  drum  and 
bugle  had  not  been  sounded  from  the  Castle  when 
the  milk  and  dustman's  carts  began  to  clatter 
over  the  frozen  streets.  With  the  first  hint  of 
dawn  stout  fishwives,  who  had  tramped  all  the 
way  in  from  the  piers  of  Newhaven  with  heavily 
laden  creels  on  their  heads,  were  lustily  crying 
their  "caller  herrinV  Soon  fagot  men  began 
to  call  up  the  courts  of  tenements,  where  fuel  was 
bought  by  the  scant  bundle:  "Are  ye  cauld?" 
Many  a  human  waif  in  the  tall  buildings  about 
the  lower  end  of  Greyfriars  kirkyard  was  cold, 
even  in  bed,  but,  in  his  thick  under  jacket  of 
fleece,  Bobby  was  as  warm  as  a  plate  of  breakfast 
toast.  With  a  vigorous  shaking  he  broke  and 
scattered  the  crust  of  snow  that  burdened  his 
shaggy  thatch.  Then  he  lay  down  on  the  grave 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

again,  with  his  nose  on  his  paws.  Urgent  mat- 
ters occupied  the  little  dog's  mind.  To  deal  with 
these  affairs  he  had  the  long  head  of  the  canniest 
Scot,  wide  and  high  between  the  ears,  and  a 
muzzle  as  determined  as  a  little  steel  trap.  Small 
and  forlorn  as  he  was,  courage,  resource  and 
purpose  marked  him. 

As  soon  as  the  door  of  the  caretaker's  lodge 
opened  he  would  have  to  creep  under  the  fallen 
slab  again.  To  lie  in  such  a  cramped  position, 
hour  after  hour,  day  after  day,  was  enough  to 
break  the  spirit  of  any  warm-blooded  creature 
that  lives.  It  was  an  exquisite  form  of  torture 
not  long  to  be  endured.  And  to  get  his  single 
meal  a  day  at  Mr.  Traill's  place  Bobby  had  to 
watch  for  the  chance  opening  of  the  wicket  to 
slip  in  and  out  like  a  thief.  The  furtive  life  is 
not  only  perilous,  it  outrages  every  feeling  of  an 
honest  dog.  It  is  hard  for  him  to  live  at  all  with- 
out the  approval  and  the  cordial  consent  of  men. 
The  human  order  hostile,  he  quickly  loses  his 
self-respect  and  drops  to  the  Pariah  class. 
Already  wee  Bobby  had  the  look  of  the  neg- 
lected. His  pretty  coat  was  dirty  and  unkempt. 
In  his  run  across  country,  leaves,  twigs  and  burrs 
had  become  entangled  in  his  long  hair,  and  his 
legs  and  underparts  were  caked  with  mire. 

Instinctively  any  dog  struggles  to  escape  the 
108 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

fate  of  the  outcast.  By  every  art  he  possesses 
he  ingratiates  himself  with  men.  One  that  has 
his  usefulness  in  the  human  scheme  of  things 
often  is  able  to  make  his  own  terms  with  life,  to 
win  the  niche  of  his  choice.  Bobby's  one  talent 
that  was  of  practical  value  to  society  was  his 
hunting  instinct  for  every  small  animal  that  bur- 
rows and  prowls  and  takes  toll  of  men's  labor. 
In  Greyf  riars  kirkyard  was  work  to  be  done  that 
he  could  do.  For  quite  three  centuries  rats  and 
mice  had  multiplied  in  this  old  sanctuary  garden 
from  which  cats  were  chased  and  dogs  excluded. 
Every  breeze  that  blew  carried  challenges  to 
Bobby's  offended  nose.  Now,  in  the  crisp  gray 
dawn,  a  big  rat  came  out  into  the  open  and  darted 
here  and  there  over  the  powdering  of  dry  snow 
that  frosted  the  kirkyard. 

A  leap,  as  if  released  from  a  spring,  and  Bobby 
captured  it.  A  snap  of  his  long  muzzle,  a  jerk 
of  his  stoutly  set  head,  and  the  victim  hung 
limp  from  his  grip.  And  he  followed  another 
deeply  seated  instinct  when  he  carried  the  slain 
to  Auld  Jock's  grave.  Trophies  of  the  chase 
were  always  to  be  laid  at  the  feet  of  the  master. 

"  Gude  dog !  eh,  but  ye're  a  bonny  wee  fechter !" 
Auld  Jock  had  always  said  after  such  an  exploit; 
and  Bobby  had  been  petted  and  praised  until  he 
nearly  wagged  his  crested  tail  off  with  happiness 

109 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

and  pride.  Then  he  had  been  given  some  choice- 
tidbit  of  food  as  a  reward  for  his  prowess.  The 
farmer  of  Cauldbrae  had  on  such  occasions  ad- 
mitted that  Bobby  might  be  of  use  about  barn 
and  dairy,  and  Mr.  Traill  had  commended  his 
capture  of  prowlers  in  the  dining-room.  But 
Bobby  was  "ower  young"  and  had  not  been 
"put  to  the  vermin"  as  a  definite  business  in  life. 
He  caught  a  rat,  now  and  then,  as  he  chased 
rabbits,  merely  as  a  diversion.  When  he  had 
caught  this  one  he  lay  down  again.  But  after  a 
time  he  got  up  deliberately  and  trotted  down  to 
the  encircling  line  of  old  courtyarded  tombs. 
There  were  nooks  and  crannies  between  and  be- 
hind these  along  the  wall  into  which  the  care- 
taker could  not  penetrate  with  sickle,  rake  and 
spade,  that  formed  sheltered  runways  for  rodents. 
A  long,  low,  weasel-like  dog  that  could  flatten 
himself  on  the  ground,  Bobby  squeezed  between 
railings  and  pedestals,  scrambled  over  fallen 
fragments  of  sculptured  urns,  trumpets,  angels' 
wings,  altars,  skull  and  cross-bones,  and  Latin- 
inscribed  scrolls.  He  went  on  his  stomach  under 
holly  and  laurel  shrubs,  burdocks,  thistles,  and 
tangled,  dead  vines.  Here  and  there  he  lay  in 
such  rubbish  as  motionless  as  the  effigies  carven 
on  marble  biers.  With  the  growing  light  grew 
the  heap  of  the  slain  on  Auld  Jock's  grave. 

no 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

Having  done  his  best,  Bobby  lay  down  again, 
worse  in  appearance  than  before,  but  with  a 
stouter  heart.  He  did  not  stir,  although  the 
shadows  fled,  the  sepulchers  stood  up  around  the 
field  of  snow,  and  slabs  and  shafts  camped  in 
ranks  on  the  slope.  Smoke  began  to  curl  up 
from  high,  clustered  chimney-pots ;  shutters  were 
opened,  and  scantily  clad  women  had  hurried 
errands  on  decaying  gallery  and  reeling  stairway. 
Suddenly  the  Castle  turrets  were  gilded  with 
pale  sunshine,  and  all  the  little  cells  in  the  tall, 
old  houses  hummed  and  buzzed  and  clacked  with 
life.  The  University  bell  called  scattered  stu- 
dents to  morning  prayers.  Pinched  and  elfish 
faces  of  children  appeared  at  the  windows  over- 
looking the  kirkyard.  The  sparrows  had  in- 
stant news  of  that,  and  the  little  winged  beggars 
fluttered  up  to  the  lintels  of  certain  deep-set 
casements,  where  ill-fed  bairns  scattered  break- 
fasts of  crumbs. 

Bobby  watched  all  this  without  a  movement. 
He  shivered  when  the  lodge  door  was  heard  to 
open  and  shut  and  heavy  footsteps  crunched  on 
the  gravel  and  snow  around  the  church.  "  Juist 
fair  silly"  on  his  quaking  legs  he  stood  up,  head 
*nd  tail  drooped.  But  he  held  his  ground 
bravely,  and  when  the  caretaker  sighted  him  he 
trotted  to  meet  the  man,  lifted  himself  on  his 

in 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

hind  legs,  his  short,  shagged  fore  paws  on  his 
breast,  begging  attention  and  indulgence.  Then 
he  sprawled  across  the  great  boots,  asking  par- 
don for  the  liberty  he  was  taking.  At  last,  all  in 
a  flash,  he  darted  back  to  the  grave,  sniffed  at  it, 
and  stood  again,  head  up,  plumy  tail  crested,  all 
excitement,  as  much  as  to  say: 

"Come  awa'  ower,  man,  an'  leuk  at  the  braw 
sicht." 

If  he  could  have  barked,  his  meaning  would 
have  carried  more  convincingly,  but  he  "hauded 
'is  gab"  loyally.  And,  alas,  the  caretaker  was 
not  to  be  beguiled.  Mr.  Traill  had  told  him 
Bobby  had  been  sent  back  to  the  hill  farm,  but 
here  he  was, ' '  perseestent "  little  rascal,  and  mak- 
ing some  sort  of  bid  for  the  man's  favor.  Mr. 
Brown  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  in  surprised 
exasperation,  and  glowered  at  the  dog. 

"Gang  awa'  oot  wi'  ye!" 

But  Bobby  was  back  again  coaxing  undaunt- 
edly, abasing  himself  before  the  angry  man,  in* 
sisting  that  he  had  something  of  interest  to  show. 
The  caretaker  was  literally  badgered  and  cajoled 
into  following  him.  One  glance  at  the  formid- 
able heap  of  the  slain,  and  Mr.  Brown  dropped 
to  a  seat  on  the  slab. 

" Preserve  us  a'!" 

He  stared  from  the  little  dog  to  his  victims, 

119 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

turned  them  over  with  his  stout  stick  and 
counted  them,  and  stared  again.  Bobby  fixed 
his  pleading  eyes  on  the  man  and  stood  at 
strained  attention  while  fate  hung  in  the  balance. 

"Gude  wark!  Gude  wark!  A  braw  doggie, 
an'  an  unco1  f echter.  Losh !  but  ye' re  a  deil  o' 
a  bit  dog!" 

All  this  was  said  in  a  tone  of  astonished  com- 
ment, so  non-committal  of  feeling  that  Bobby's 
tail  began  to  twitch  in  the  stress  of  his  anxiety. 
When  the  caretaker  spoke  again,  after  a  long, 
puzzled  frowning,  it  was  to  express  a  very  human 
bewilderment  and  irritation. 

"Noo,  what  am  I  gangin'  to  do  wi'  ye?" 

Ah,  that  was  encouraging !  A  moment  before, 
he  had  ordered  Bobby  out  in  no  uncertain  tone. 
After  another  moment  he  referred  the  question 
to  a  higher  court. 

"  Jeanie,  woman,  come  awa'  oot  a  meenit,  wull 
ye?" 

A  hasty  pattering  of  carpet-slippered  feet  on 
the  creaking  snow,  around  the  kirk,  and  there  was 
the  neatest  little  apple-cheeked  peasant  woman 
in  Scotland,  "snod"  from  her  smooth,  frosted 
hair,  spotless  linen  mutch  and  lawn  kerchief,  to 
her  white,  lamb's-wool  stockings. 

"  Here's  the  bit  dog  I  was  tellin'  ye  aboot; 
wa'  see  for  yersel*  what  he's  done  noo." 

"3 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

"The  wee  beastie  couldna  do  a'  that!  It's  aa 
muckle  as  his  ain  wecht  in  fou'  vermin  I"  she 
cried. 

"  Ay,  he  did.  Thae  terriers  are  sperity,  by  the 
ordinar'.  Ane  o'  them,  let  into  the  corn  ex- 
change a  murky  nicht,  killed  saxty  in  ten  meenits, 
an'  had  to  be  dragged  awa'  by  the  tail.  Noo, 
what  I  am  gangin'  to  do  wi'  the  takin'  bit  I  dinna 
ken." 

It  is  very  certain  that  simple  Mistress  Jean 
Brown  had  never  heard  of  Mr.  Dick's  advice  to 
Miss  Betsy  Trotwood  on  the  occasion  when  young 
David  Copperfield  presented  himself,  travel- 
stained  and  weary,  before  his  good  aunt.  But 
out  of  her  experience  of  wholesome  living  she 
brought  forth  the  same  wise  opinion. 

"I'd  gie  him  a  gude  washin'  first  of  a',  Jamie. 
He  leuks  like  some  puir,  gaen-aboot  dog."  And 
she  drew  her  short,  blue-stuff  gown  back  from 
Bobby's  grateful  attentions. 

Mr.  Brown  slapped  his  corduroy-breeked  knee 
and  nodded  his  grizzled  head.  "Richt  ye  are. 
It's  maist  michty,  noo,  I  wadna  think  o'  that. 
When  I  was  leevin'  as  an  under  gairdener  wi'  a 
3aird  i'  Argyleshire  I  was  aye  aboot  the  kennels 
wi'  the  gillies.  That  was  lang  syne.  The  sma' 
terrier  dogs  were  aye  washed  i'  claes  tubs  wi* 
warm  water  an'  soap.  Come  awa',  Bobby." 

114 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

The  caretaker  got  up  stiffly,  for  such  sneU 
weather  was  apt  to  give  him  twinges  in  his  joints. 
In  him  a  youthful  enthusiasm  for  dogs  had  sud- 
denly revived.  Besides,  although  he  would  have 
denied  it,  he  was  relieved  at  having  the  main 
issue,  as  to  what  was  to  be  done  with  this  four- 
footed  trespasser,  side-tracked  for  a  time.  Bobby 
followed  him  to  the  lodge  at  an  eager  trot,  and 
he  dutifully  hopped  into  the  bath  that  was  set 
on  the  rear  doorstep.  Mr.  Brown  scrubbed  him 
vigorously,  and  Bobby  splashed  and  swam  and 
churned  the  soapy  water  to  foam.  He  scrambled 
out  at  once,  when  told  to  do  so,  and  submitted  to 
being  dried  with  a  big,  tow-linen  towel.  This 
was  all  a  delightful  novelty  to  Bobby.  Hereto- 
fore he  had  gone  into  any  convenient  tarn  or 
burn  to  swim,  and  then  dried  himself  by  rolling 
on  the  heather  and  running  before  the  wind. 
Now  he  was  bundled  up  ignominiously  in  an  old 
flannel  petticoat,  carried  across  a  sanded  kitchen 
floor  and  laid  on  a  warm  hearth. 

"Boon  wi'  ye!'*  was  the  gruff  order.  Bobby 
turned  around  and  around  on  the  hearth,  like 
some  little  wild  dog  making  a  bed  in  the  jungle, 
before  he  obeyed.  He  kept  very  still  during  the 
reading  of  a  chapter  and  the  singing  of  a  Psalm, 
as  he  had  been  taught  to  do  at  the  farm  by  many 
A  reminder  from  Auld  Jock's  boot.  And  he  kept 

us 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

away  from  the  breakfast  -  table,  although  tha 
walls  of  his  stomach  were  collapsed  as  flat  as  the 
sides  of  an  empty  pocket. 

It  was  such  a  clean,  shining  little  kitchen,  with 
the  scoured  deal  table,  chairs  and  cupboard, 
and  the  firelight  from  the  grate  winked  so  on 
pewter  mugs,  copper  kettle,  willow-patterned 
plates  and  diamond  panes,  that  Bobby  blinked 
too.  Flowers  bloomed  in  pots  on  the  casement 
sills,  and  a  little  brown  skylark  sang,  fluttering 
as  if  it  would  soar,  in  a  gilded  cage.  After  the 
morning  meal  Mr.  Brown  lighted  his  pipe  and 
put  on  his  bonnet  to  go  out  again,  when  he  be- 
thought him  that  Bobby  might  be  needing 
something  to  eat. 

"What  '11  ye  gie  'im,  Jeanie?  At  the  laird's, 
noo,  the  terriers  were  aye  fed  wi'  bits  o'  livers 
an'  cheese  an'  moor-fowls'  eggs,  an*  sic-like, 
fried." 

"Havers,  Jamie,  it's  no*  releegious  to  feed  a 
dog  better  than  puir  bairns.  He'll  do  fair  weel 
wi'  table  scraps." 

She  set  down  a  plate  with  a  spoonful  of  por- 
ridge on  it,  a  cold  potato,  some  bread  crusts,  and 
the  leavings  of  a  broiled  caller  herrin'.  It  was  a 
generous  breakfast  for  so  small  a  dog,  but  Bobby 
had  been  without  food  for  quite  forty  hours,  and 
had  done  an  amazing  amount  of  work  in  the 

116 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

meantime.  When  he  had  eaten  all  of  it  he  was 
still  hungry.  As  a  polite  hint,  he  polished  the 
empty  plate  with  his  pink  tongue  and  looked  up 
expectantly;  but  the  best-intentioned  people,  if 
they  have  had  little  to  do  with  dogs,  cannot  read 
such  signs. 

"Ye  needna  lick  the  posies  aff,"  the  wifie  said, 
good-humoredly,  as  she  picked  the  plate  up  to 
wash  it.  She  thought  to  put  down  a  tin  basin  of 
water.  Bobby  lapped  it  so  eagerly,  yet  so 
daintily,  that  she  added:  "He's  a  weel-broucht- 
up  tyke,  Jamie." 

"He  is  so.  Noo,  we'll  see  hoo  weel  he  can 
leuk."  In  a  shamefaced  way  he  fetched  from  a 
tool-box  a  long-forgotten,  strong  little  curry- 
comb, such  as  is  used  on  shaggy  Shetland  ponies. 
With  that  he  proceeded  to  give  Bobby  such  a 
grooming  as  he  had  never  had  before.  It  was 
a  painful  operation,  for  his  thatch  was  a  stubborn 
mat  of  crisp  waves  and  knotty  tangles  to  his 
plumy  tail  and  down  to  his  feathered  toes.  He 
braced  himself  and  took  the  punishment  without 
a  whimper,  and  when  it  was  done  he  stood  cas- 
caded with  dark -silver  ripples  nearly  to  the 
floor. 

"The  bonny  wee!'1  cried  Mistress  Jeanie.  "I 
canna  tak'  ma  twa  een  aff  o'  'im." 

"Ay,  he's  bonny  by  the  ordinar'.    It  wad  be 

9  "7 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

grand,  noo,  gin  the  meenister'd  fancy  'im  an* 
tak'  'im  into  the  manse." 

The  wifie  considered  this  ruefully.  "Jamie,  I 
was  wishin'  ye  didna  hae  to — " 

But  what  she  wished  he  did  not  have  to  doT 
Mr.  Brown  did  not  stop  to  hear.  He  suddenly 
clapped  his  bonnet  on  his  head  and  went  out. 
He  had  an  urgent  errand  on  High  Street,  to  buy 
grass  and  flower  seeds  and  tools  that  would  cer- 
tainly be  needed  in  April.  It  took  him  an  hour 
or  more  of  shrewd  looking  about  for  the  best 
bargains,  in  a  swarm  of  little  barnacle  and  cellar 
shops,  to  spend  a  few  of  the  kirk's  shillings. 
When  he  found  himself,  to  his  disgust,  looking  at 
a  nail-studded  collar  for  a  little  dog  he  called 
himself  a  ''doited  auld  fule,"  and  tramped  back 
across  the  bridge. 

At  the  kirkyard  gate  he  stopped  and  read  the 
notice  through  twice:  "No  dogs  permitted." 
That  was  as  plain  as  "Thou  shalt  not."  To  the 
pious  caretaker  and  trained  servant  it  was  the 
eleventh  commandment.  He  shook  his  head, 
sighed,  and  went  in  to  dinner.  Bobby  was  not 
in  the  house,  and  the  master  of  it  avoided  in- 
quiring for  him.  He  also  avoided  the  wifie's 
wistful  eye,  and  he  busied  himself  inside  the  two 
kirks  all  the  afternoon. 

Because  he  was  in  the  kirks,  and  the  beautiful 
118 


GREYFRIARS   BOBBY 

memorial  windows  of  stained  glass  were  not  for 
the  purpose  of  looking  out,  he  did  not  see  a 
dramatic  incident  that  occurred  in  the  kirkyard 
after  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  The  pre- 
lude to  it  really  began  with  the  report  of  the  time- 
gun  at  one.  Bobby  had  insisted  upon  being  let 
out  of  the  lodge  kitchen,  and  had  spent  the 
morning  near  Auld  Jock's  grave  and  in  nosing 
about  neighboring  slabs  and  thorn  bushes. 
When  the  time -gun  boomed  he  trotted  to  the 
gate  quite  openly  and  waited  there  inside  the 
wicket. 

In  such  nipping  weather  there  were  no  visitors 
to  the  kirkyard  and  the  gate  was  not  opened. 
The  music  bells  ran  the  gamut  of  old  Scotch  airs 
and  ceased,  while  he  sat  there  and  waited  pa- 
tiently. Once  a  man  stopped  to  look  at  the  little 
dog,  and  Bobby  promptly  jumped  on  the  wicket, 
plainly  begging  to  have  it  unlatched.  But  the 
passer-by  decided  that  some  lady  had  left  her 
pet  behind,  and  would  return  for  him.  So  he 
patted  the  attractive  little  Highlander  on  the 
head  and  went  on  about  his  business. 

Discouraged  by  the  unpromising  outlook  for 
dinner  that  day,  Bobby  went  slowly  back  to  the 
grave.  Twice  afterward  he  made  hopeful  pil- 
grimages to  the  gate.  For  diversion  he  fell 
nokelessly  upon  a  prowling  cat  and  chased  it  out 

ng 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

of  the  kirkyard.  At  last  he  sat  upon  the  table* 
tomb.  He  had  escaped  notice  from  the  tene- 
ments all  the  morning  because  the  view  from 
most  of  the  windows  was  blocked  by  washings, 
hung  out  and  dripping,  then  freezing  and  clapping 
against  the  old  tombs.  It  was  half -past  three 
o'clock  when  a  tiny,  wizened  face  popped  out  of 
one  of  the  rude  little  windows  in  the  decayed 
Cunzie  Neuk  at  the  bottom  of  Candlemakers 
Row.  Crippled  Tammy  Barr  called  out  in  shrill 
excitement : 

"Ailie!  O-o-oh,  Ailie  Lindsey,  there's  the  wee 
doggie!" 

"Whaur?"  The  lassie's  elfin  face  looked  out 
from  a  low,  rear  window  of  the  Candlemakers' 
Guildhall  at  the  top  of  the  Row. 

"On  the  stane  by  the  kirk  wa'." 

"I  see  'im  noo.  Isna  he  bonny?  I  wish 
Bobby  could  bide  i'  the  kirkyaird,  but  they 
wadna  let  'im.  Tammy,  gin  ye  tak'  'im  up  to 
Maister  Traill,  he'll  gie  ye  the  shullin'!" 

"I  couldna  tak'  'im  by  ma  lane,"  was  the 
pathetic  confession.  "Wad  ye  gang  wi'  me, 
Ailie  ?  Ye  could  drap  ower  an'  catch  'im,  an'  I 
could  come  by  the  gate.  Faither  made  me  some 
grand  crutches  frae  an'  auld  chair  back." 

Tears  suddenly  drowned  the  lassie's  blue  eyes 
and  ran  down  her  pinched  little  cheeks. 

I2O 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

I  couldna  gang.  I  haena  ony  shoon  to  ma 
feet." 

"It's  no*  so  cauld.  Gin  I  had  twa  gude  feet 
I  could  gang  the  bit  way  wi'oot  shoon.'1 

"I  ken  it  isna  so  cauld,"  Ailie  admitted,  "but 
for  a  lassie  it's  no'  respectable  to  gang  to  a  grand 
place  barefeeted." 

That  was  undeniable,  and  the  eager  children 
fell  silent  and  tearful.  But  oh,  necessity  is  the 
mother  of  makeshifts  among  the  poor!  Sud- 
denly Ailie  cried:  "Bide  a  meenit,  Tammy,"  and 
vanished.  Presently  she  was  back,  with  the 
difficulty  overcome.  "Grannie  says  I  can  wear 
her  shoon.  She  doesna  wear  'em  i'  the  hoose, 


ava." 


"I'll  gie  ye  a  saxpence,  Ailie,"  offered  Tammy. 

The  sordid  bargain  shocked  no  feeling  of  these 
tenement  bairns  nor  marred  their  pleasure  in  the 
adventure.  Presently  there  was  a  tap-tap-tap- 
ping of  crutches  on  the  heavy  gallery  that  fronted 
the  Cunzie  Neuk,  and  on  the  stairs  that  descended 
from  it  to  the  steep  and  curving  Row.  The 
lassie  draped  a  fragment  of  an  old  plaid  deftly 
over  her  thinly  clad  shoulders,  climbed  through 
the  window,  to  the  pediment  of  the  classic  tomb 
that  blocked  it,  and  dropped  into  the  kirkyard. 
To  her  surprise  Bobby  was  there  at  her  feet, 
frantically  wagging  his  tail,  and  he  raced  her  tc 

121 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

the  gate.     She  caught  him  on  the  steps  of  th 
dining-room,  and  held  his  wriggling  little  body 
fast  until  Tammy  came  up. 

It  was  a  tumultuous  little  group  that  burst  in 
upon  the  astonished  landlord:  barking  fluff  of 
an  excited  dog,  flying  lassie  in  clattering  big 
shoes,  and  wee,  tapping  Tammy.  They  literally 
fell  upon  him  when  he  was  engaged  in  counting 
out  his  money. 

"Whaur  did  you  find  him?"  asked  Mr  Traill 
in  bewilderment. 

Six-year-old  Ailie  slipped  a  shy  finger  into  her 
mouth,  and  looked  to  the  very  much  more  mature 
five-year-old  crippled  laddie  to  answer: 

"He  was  i'  the  kirkyaird." 

"Sittin'  upon  a  stane  by  'is  ainsel',"  added 
Ailie. 

"An'  no'  hidin',  ava.  It  was  juist  like  he  was 
leevin'  there." 

"An'  syne,  when  I  drapped  oot  o'  the  window 
he  louped  at  me  so  bonny,  an'  I  couldna  keep  up 
wi'  'im  to  the  gate." 

Wonder  of  wonders !  It  was  plain  that  Bobby 
had  made  his  way  back  from  the  hill  farm  and, 
from  his  appearance  and  manner,  as  well  as  from 
this  account,  it  was  equally  clear  that  some 
happy  change  in  his  fortunes  had  taken  place. 
He  sat  up  on  his  haunches  listening  with  interest- 

122 


GREYFRIARS   BOBBY 

and  lolling  his  tongue!  And  that  was  a  thing 
the  bereft  little  dog  had  not  done  since  his  mas- 
ter died.  In  the  first  pause  in  the  talk  he  rose 
and  begged  for  his  dinner. 

"Noo,  what  am  I  to  pay?  It  took  ane,  twa, 
three  o'  ye  to  fetch  ane  sma'  dog.  A  saxpence 
for  the  laddie,  a  saxpence  for  the  lassie,  an'  a  bit 
meal  for  Bobby." 

While  he  was  putting  the  plate  down  under 
the  settle  Mr.  Traill  heard  an  amazed  whisper: 
"He's  gien  the  doggie  a  chuckie  bane."  The 
landlord  switched  the  plate  from  under  Bobby's 
protesting  little  muzzle  and  turned  to  catch  the 
hungry  look  on  the  faces  of  the  children .  Chicken, 
indeed,  for  a  little  dog,  before  these  ill-fed  bairns! 
Mr.  Traill  had  a  brilliant  thought. 

"Preserve  me!  I  didna  think  to  eat  ma  ain 
dinner.  I  hae  so  muckle  to  eat  I  canna  eat  it  by 
ma  lane." 

The  idea  of  having  too  much  to  eat  was  so 
preposterously  funny  that  Tammy  doubled  up 
with  laughter  and  nearly  tumbled  over  his 
crutches.  Mr.  Traill  set  him  upright  again. 

"Did  ye  ever  gang  on  a  picnic,  bairnies?" 
And  what  was  a  picnic?  Tammy  ventured  the 
opinion  that  it  might  be  some  kind  of  a  cart  for 
lame  laddies  to  ride  in. 

"A.  picnic  is  when  ye  gang  gypsying  in  the 
123 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

summer,"  Mr.  Traill  explained.  "Ye  walk  to  a 
bonny  green  brae,  an*  sit  doon  under  a  hawthorn- 
tree  a*  covered  wi'  posies,  by  a  babblin'  burn,  an* 
ye  eat  oot  o'  yer  ain  hands.  An*  syne  ye  hear  a 
throstle  or  a  redbreast  sing  an'  a  saucy  black- 
bird whustle." 

"Could  ye  tak'  a  dog?"  asked  Tammy. 

"Ye  could  that,  mannie.  It's  no*  a  picnic 
wi'oot  a  sonsie  doggie  to  rin  on  the  brae  wi' 
ye." 

"  Oh !' '  Ailie's  blue  eyes  slowly  widened  in  her 
pallid  little  face.  "But  ye  couldna  hae  a  picnic 
i'  the  snawy  weather." 

"Ay,  ye  could.  It's  the  bonniest  of  a*  when 
ye're  no'  expectin'  it.  I  aye  keep  a  picnic  hidden 
i'  the  ingleneuk  aboon."  He  suddenly  swung 
Tammy  up  on  his  shoulder,  and  calling,  gaily, 
"Come  awa',"  went  out  the  door,  through 
another  beside  it,  and  up  a  flight  of  stairs  to  the 
dining-room  above.  A  fire  burned  there  in  the 
grate,  the  tables  were  covered  with  linen,  and 
there  were  blooming  flowers  in  pots  in  the  front 
windows.  Patrons  from  the  University,  and  the 
well-to-do  streets  and  squares  to  the  south  and 
east,  made  of  this  upper  room  a  sort  of  club  in 
the  evenings.  At  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
there  were  no  guests. 

"Noo,"  said  Mr.  Traill,  when  his  overcome 
124 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

Httle  guests  were  seated  at  a  table  in  the  ingle- 
nook.  "A  picnic  is  whaur  ye  hae  onything  ye 
fancy  to  eat;  gude  things  ye  wullna  be  haein' 
ilka  day,  ye  mind."  He  rang  a  call-bell,  and  a 
grinning  waiter  laddie  popped  up  so  quickly  the 
lassie  caught  her  breath. 

"Eneugh  broo  for  aince,"  said  Tammy. 

4 *  Porridge  that  isna  burned,"  suggested  Ailie. 
Such  pitiful  poverty  of  the  imagination! 

"Nae,  it's  bread,  an*  butter,  an'  strawberry 
jam,  an'  tea  wi'  cream  an'  sugar,  an'  cauld 
chuckie  at  a  snawy  picnic,"  announced  Mr. 
Traill.  And  there  it  was,  served  very  quickly 
and  silently,  after  some  manner  of  magic.  Bobby 
had  to  stand  on  the  fourth  chair  to  eat  his 
dinner,  and  when  he  had  despatched  it  he  sat  up 
and  viewed  the  little  party  with  the  liveliest 
interest  and  happiness. 

"Tammy,"  Ailie  said,  when  her  shyness  had 
worn  off,  "it's  like  the  grand  tales  ye  mak'  up  i' 
yer  heid." 

'  *  Preserve  me !  Does  the  wee  mannie  mak'  up 
stories?" 

"It's  juist  fulish  things,  aboot  haein'  mair  to 
eat,  an'  a  sonsie  doggie  to  play  wi1,  an*  twa  gude 
legs  to  tak'  me  aboot.  I  think  'em  oot  at  nicht 
when  I  canna  sleep." 

44  Eh,  laddie,  do  ye  noo  ?"    Mr.  Traill  suddenly 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

had  a  terrible  "cauld  in  'is  heid,"  that  made 
his  eyes  water.  "Hoo  auld  are  ye?" 

"Five,  gangin'  on  sax." 

"Losh!  I  thoucht  ye  war  fifty,  gangin'  on 
saxty."  Laughter  saved  the  day  from  over- 
moist  emotions.  And  presently  Mr.  Traill  was 
able  to  say  in  a  business-like  tone : 

"We'll  hae  to  tak'  ye  to  the  infirmary.  An* 
if  they  canna  mak'  yer  legs  ower  ye' 11  get  a  pair 
o'  braw  crutches  that  are  the  niest  thing  to  gude 
legs.  An'  syne  we'll  see  if  there's  no'  a  place  in 
Heriot's  for  a  sma'  laddie  that  mak's  up  bonny 
tales  o'  his  ain  in  the  murky  auld  Cunzie  Neuk." 

Now  the  gay  little  feast  was  eaten,  and  early 
dark  was  coming  on.  If  Mr.  Traill  had  enter- 
tained the  hope  that  Bobby  had  recovered  from 
his  grief  and  might  remain  with  him  he  was  dis- 
appointed. The  little  dog  began  to  be  restless. 
He  ran  to  the  door  and  back;  he  begged,  and  he 
scratched  on  the  panel.  And  then  he  yelped! 
As  soon  as  the  door  was  opened  he  shot  out  of  it, 
tumbled  down  the  stairway  and  waited  at  the 
foot  impatiently  for  the  lower  door  to  be  un- 
latched. Ailie's  thin,  swift  legs  were  left  behind 
when  Bobby  dashed  to  the  kirkyard. 

Tammy  followed  at  a  surprising  pace  on  his 
rude  crutches,  and  Mr.  Traill  brought  up  the  rear. 
H  the  children  could  not  smuggle  the  frantio 

126 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

Httle  dog  inside  the  landlord  meant  to  put  him 
over  the  wicket  and,  if  necessary,  to  have  it  out 
with  the  caretaker,  and  then  to  go  before  the 
kirk  minister  and  officers  with  his  plea.  He  was 
still  concealed  by  the  buildings,  from  the  alcoved 
gate,  when  he  heard  Mr.  Brown's  gruff  voice 
taking  the  frightened  bairns  to  task. 

' '  Gie  me  the  dog ;  an*  dinna  ye  tak'  him  oot  ony 
mair  wi'oot  spierin'  me." 

The  children  fled.  Peeping  around  the  angle 
of  the  Book  Hunter's  Stall,  Mr.  Traill  saw  the 
caretaker  lift  Bobby  over  the  wicket  to  his  arms, 
and  start  with  him  toward  the  lodge.  He  was 
perishing  with  curiosity  about  this  astonishing 
change  of  front  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Brown,  but  it 
was  a  delicate  situation  in  which  it  seemed  best 
not  to  meddle.  He  went  slowly  back  to  the 
restaurant,  begrudging  Bobby  to  the  luckier 
caretaker. 

His  envy  was  premature.  Mr.  Brown  set 
Bobby  inside  the  lodge  kitchen  and  announced 
briefly  to  his  wife:  "The  bit  dog  wull  sleep  i'  the 
hoose  the  nicht."  And  he  went  about  some 
business  at  the  upper  end  of  the  kirkyard.  When 
he  came  in  an  hour  later  Bobby  was  gone. 

"I  couldna  keep  'im  in,  Jamie.  He  didna 
blatter,  but  he  greeted  so  sair  to  be  let  oot,  an 
syne  he  scratched  a'  the  paint  afE  the  door/* 

127 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

Mr.  Brown  glowered  at  her  in  exasperation, 
"Woman,  tkey'll  hae  me  up  afore  kirk  sessions 
for  brakin'  the  rules,  an*  syne  they'll  turn  us  a' 
oot  i'  the  cauld  warld  togither." 

He  slammed  the  door  and  stormed  angrily 
around  the  kirk.  It  was  still  light  enough  to  sea 
the  little  creature  on  the  snowy  mound  andr 
indeed,  Bobby  got  up  and  wagged  his  tail  in 
friendly  greeting.  At  that  all  the  bluster  went 
out  of  the  man,  and  he  began  to  argue  the  matter 
with  the  dog. 

"Come  awa',  Bobby.  Ye  canna  be  leevin1  i* 
the  kirkyaird." 

Bobby  was  of  a  different  opinion.  He  turned 
around  and  around,  thoughtfully,  several  times, 
then  sat  up  on  the  grave.  Entirely  willing  to 
epend  a  social  hour  with  his  new  friend,  he  fixed 
his  eyes  hospitably  upon  him.  Mr.  Brown 
dropped  to  the  slab,  lighted  his  pipe,  and  smoked 
for  a  time,  to  compose  his  agitated  mind.  By 
and  by  he  got  up  briskly  and  stooped  to  lift  the 
little  dog.  At  that  Bobby  dug  his  claws  in  the 
clods  and  resisted  with  all  his  muscular  body  and 
determined  mind.  He  clung  to  the  grave  so 
desperately,  and  looked  up  so  piteously,  that  the 
caretaker  surrendered.  And  there  was  snod 
Mistress  Jeanie,  forgetting  her  spotless  gown  and 
kneeling  in  the  snow. 

i*8 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

"Puir  Bobby,  puir  wee  Bobby! '  she  cried,  and 
her  tears  fell  on  the  little  tousled  head.  The 
caretaker  strode  abruptly  away  and  waited  for 
the  wifie  in  the  shadow  of  the  auld  kirk.  Bobby 
lifted  his  muzzle  and  licked  the  caressing  hand. 
Then  he  curled  himself  up  comfortably  on  the 
mound  and  went  to  sleep. 


VII 

IN  no  part  of  Edinburgh  did  summer  come 
up  earlier,  or  with  more  lavish  bloom,  than  in 
old  Greyfriars  kirkyard.  Sheltered  on  the  north 
and  east,  it  was  open  to  the  moist  breezes  of  the 
southwest,  and  during  all  the  lengthening  after- 
noons the  sun  lay  down  its  slope  and  warmed  the 
rear  windows  of  the  overlooking  tenements.  Be- 
fore the  end  of  May  the  caretaker  had  much  ado 
to  keep  the  growth  in  order.  Vines  threatened  to 
engulf  the  circling  street  of  sepulchers  in  green- 
ery and  bloom,  and  grass  to  encroach  on  the 
flower  plots. 

A  half  century  ago  there  were  no  rotary  lawn- 
mowers  to  cut  off  clover  heads ;  and,  if  there  had 
been,  one  could  not  have  been  used  on  these 
dropping  terraces,  so  populous  with  slabs  and 
so  closely  set  with  turfed  mounds  and  oblongs 
of  early  flowering  annuals  and  bedding  plants. 
Mr.  Brown  had  to  get  down  on  his  hands  and 
knees,  with  gardener's  shears,  to  clip  the  turfed 
borders  and  banks,  and  take  a  sickle  to  the  hum- 
mocks. Thus  he  could  dig  out  a  root  of  dande- 

130 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

lion  with  the  trowel  kept  ever  in  his  belt,  con- 
sider the  spreading  crocuses  and  valley  lilies, 
whether  to  spare  them,  give  a  country  violet  its 
blossoming  time,  and  leave  a  screening  burdock 
undisturbed  until  fledglings  were  out  of  their* 
nests  in  the  shrubbery. 

Mistress  Jeanie  often  brought  out  a  little  ol<i 
milking-stool  on  balmy  mornings,  and  sat  with? 
knitting  or  mending  in  one  of  the  narrow  aisles,, 
to  advise  her  gude-mon  in  small  matters.  Bobby 
trotted  quietly  about,  sniffing  at  everything 
with  the  liveliest  interest,  head  on  this  side  or 
that,  alertlv.  His  business,  learned  in  his  first 
summer  in  Greyfriars,  was  to  guard  the  nests 
of  foolish  skylarks,  song-thrushes,  redbreasts  and 
wrens,  that  built  low  in  lilac,  laburnum,  and 
flowering  currant  bushes,  in  crannies  of  wall  and 
vault,  and  on  the  ground.  It  cannot  but  be  a 
pleasant  thing  to  be  a  wee  young  dog,  full  of  life 
and  good  intentions,  and  to  play  one's  dramatic 
part  in  making  an  old  garden  of  souls  tuneful 
with  bird  song.  A  cry  of  alarm  from  parent  or 
nestling  was  answered  instantly  by  the  tiny, 
tousled  policeman,  and  there  was  a  prowler  the 
less,  or  a  skulking  cat  was  sent  flying  over  tomb 
and  wall. 

His  duty  done,  without  noise  or  waste  of 
energy,  Bobby  returned  to  lie  in  the  sun  on  Auld 


GREYFRIARS    BOBfcY 

Jock's  grave.  Over  this  beloved  mound  a  cover- 
let of  rustic  turf  had  been  spread  as  soon  as  the 
frost  was  out  of  the  ground,  and  a  bonny  briar 
5ush  planted  at  the  head.  Then  it  bore  nature's 
own  tribute  of  flowers,  for  violets,  buttercups, 
daisies  and  clover  blossoms  opened  there  and, 
later,  a  spike  or  so  of  wild  foxglove  and  a  knot 
of  heather.  Robin  redbreasts  and  wrens  for- 
aged around  Bobby,  unafraid;  swallows  swooped 
down  from  their  mud  villages,  under  the  dizzy 
dormers  and  gables,  to  flush  the  flies  on  his  muzzle, 
and  whole  flocks  of  little  blue  titmice  fluttered 
just  overhead,  in  their  rovings  from  holly  and 
laurel  to  newly  tasseled  firs  and  yew-trees. 

The  click  of  the  wicket  gate  was  another  sort 
of  alarm  altogether.  At  that  the  little  dog 
slipped  under  the  fallen  table-tomb  and  lay 
hidden  there  until  any  strange  visitor  had  taken 
himself  away.  Except  for  two  more  forced  re- 
turns and  ingenious  escapes  from  the  sheep- 
farm  on  the  Pentlands,  Bobby  had  lived  in  the 
kirkyard  undisturbed  for  six  months.  The  care- 
taker had  neither  the  heart  to  put  him  out  nor 
the  courage  to  face  the  minister  and  the  kirk 
officers  with  a  plea  for  him  to  remain.  The 
little  dog's  presence  there  was  known,  appar- 
ently, only  to  Mr.  Traill,  to  a  few  of  the  tenement 
dwellers,  and  to  the  Heriot  boys.  If  his  life  was 

13* 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

clandestine  in  a  way,  it  was  as  regular  of  hour  and 
duty  and  as  well  ordered  as  that  of  the  garrison 
in  the  Castle. 

When  the  time-gun  boomed,  Bobby  was  let  out 
for  his  midday  meal  at  Mr.  Train's  and  for  a 
noisy  run  about  the  neighborhood  to  exercise  his 
lungs  and  legs.  On  Wednesdays  he  haunted  the 
Grassmarket,  sniffing  at  horses,  carts  and  mired 
boots.  Edinburgh  had  so  many  shaggy  little 
Skye  and  Scotch  terriers  that  one  more  could  go 
about  unremarked.  Bobby  returned  to  the  kirk- 
yard  at  his  own  good  pleasure.  In  the  evening 
he  was  given  a  supper  of  porridge  and  broo,  or 
milk,  at  the  kitchen  door  of  the  lodge,  and  the 
nights  he  spent  on  Auld  Jock's  grave.  The 
morning  drum  and  bugle  woke  him  to  the 
chase,  and  all  his  other  hours  were  spent  in  close 
attendance  on  the  labors  of  the  caretaker.  The 
click  of  the  wicket  gate  was  the  signal  for  instant 
disappearance. 

A  scramble  up  the  wall  from  Heriot's  Hospital 
grounds,  or  the  patter  of  bare  feet  on  the  gravel, 
however,  was  notice  to  come  out  and  greet  a 
friend.  Bobby  was  host  to  the  disinherited 
children  of  the  tenements.  Now,  at  the  tap-tap- 
tapping  of  Tammy  Barr's  crutches,  he  scampered 
up  the  slope,  and  he  suited  his  pace  to  the 
crippled  boy's  in  coining  down  again.  Tammy 

10  *33 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

chose  a  heap  of  cut  grass  on  which  to  sit  sn« 
throned  and  play  king,  a  grand  new  crutch  for  a 
scepter,  and  Bobby  for  a  courtier.  At  command, 
the  little  dog  rolled  over  and  over,  begged,  and 
walked  on  his  hind  legs.  He  even  permitted  a 
pair  of  thin  little  arms  to  come  near  strangling 
him,  in  an  excess  of  affection.  Then  he  wagged 
his  tail  and  lolled  his  tongue  to  show  that  he  was 
friendly,  and  trotted  away  about  his  business. 
Tammy  took  an  oat-cake  from  his  pocket  to 
nibble,  and  began  a  conversation  with  Mistress 
Jeanie. 

"I  broucht  a  picnic  wi'  me." 

"Did  ye,  noo?  An*  hoo  did  ye  ken  aboot 
picnics,  laddie?" 

"Maister  Traill  was  tellin'  Ailie  an'  me. 
There's  ilka  thing  to  mak'  a  picnic  i'  the  kirk- 
yaird.  They  couldna  mak'  my  legs  gude  i'  the 
infairmary,  but  I'm  gangin'  to  Heriot's.  I'll 
juist  hae  to  aim  ma  leevin'  wi'  ma  heid,  an*  no* 
remember  aboot  ma  legs,  ava.  Is  he  no'  a  bonny 
doggie?" 

"Ay,  he's  bonny.  An*  ye're  a  braw  laddie  no' 
to  fash  yersel'  aboot  what  canna  be  helped." 

The  wifie  took  his  ragged  jacket  and  mended 
it,  dropped  a  tear  in  an  impossible  hole,  and  a  ha'- 
penny in  the  one  good  pocket.  And  by  and  by 
the  pale  laddie  slept  there  among  the  bright 

134 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

graves,  in  the  sun.  After  another  false  alarm 
from  the  gate  she  asked  her  gude-mon,  as  she  had 
asked  many  times  before : 

"What  '11  ye  do,  Jamie,  when  the  meenister 
kens  aboot  Bobby,  an*  ca's  ye  up  afore  kirk  ses- 
sions for  brakin'  the  rule?" 

"We  wullna  cross  the  brig  till  we  come  to  the 
burn,  woman,"  he  invariably  answered,  with  as- 
sumed unconcern.  Well  he  knew  that  the  bridge 
might  be  down  and  the  stream  in  flood  when  he 
came  to  it.  But  Mr.  Traill  was  a  member  of 
Greyfriars  auld  kirk,  too,  and  a  companion  in 
guilt,  and  Mr.  Brown  relied  not  a  little  on  the 
landlord's  fertile  mind  and  daring  tongue.  And 
he  relied  on  useful,  well-behaving  Bobby  to  plead 
his  own  cause. 

" There's  nae  denyin*  the  doggie  is  takin'  in  'is 
ways.  He's  had  twa  gude  hames  fair  thrown  at 
'is  heid,  but  the  sperity  bit  keeps  to  'is  ain  mind. 
An'  syne  he's  usefu',  an'  hauds  'is  gab  by  the 
ordinar'."  He  often  reinforced  his  inclination 
with  some  such  argument. 

With  all  their  caution,  discovery  was  always 
imminent.  The  kirkyard  was  long  and  narrow 
and  on  rising  levels,  and  it  was  cut  almost  across 
by  the  low  mass  of  the  two  kirks,  so  that  many 
things  might  be  going  on  at  one  end  that  could 
not  be  seen  from  the  other.  On  this  Saturday 

135 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

noon,  when  the  Heriot  boys  were  let  out  for  the 
half-holiday,  Mr.  Brown  kept  an  eye  on  them 
until  those  who  lived  outside  had  dispersed. 
When  Mistress  Jeanie  tucked  her  knitting-needles 
in  her  belt,  and  went  up  to  the  lodge  to  put  the 
dinner  over  the  fire,  the  caretaker  went  down 
toward  Candlemakers  Row  to  trim  the  grass 
about  the  martyrs'  monument.  Bobby  duti- 
fully trotted  at  his  heels.  Almost  immediately  a 
half-dozen  laddies,  led  by  Geordie  Ross  and 
Sandy  McGregor,  scaled  the  wall  from  Heriot's 
grounds  and  stepped  down  into  the  kirkyard, 
that  lay  piled  within  nearly  to  the  top.  They 
had  a  perfectly  legitimate  errand  there,  but  no 
mission  is  to  be  approached  directly  by  romantic 
boyhood. 

"Hist!"  was  the  warning,  and  the  innocent 
invaders,  feeling  delightfully  lawless,  stole  over 
and  stormed  the  marble  castle,  where  "Bluidy" 
McKenzie  slept  uneasily  against  judgment  day. 
Light-hearted  lads  can  do  daring  deeds  on  a 
sunny  day  that  would  freeze  their  blood  on  a 
dark  and  stormy  night.  So  now  Geordie  climbed 
nonchalantly  to  a  seat  over  the  old  persecutor, 
crossed  his  stout,  bare  legs,  filled  an  imaginary 
pipe,  and  rattled  the  three  farthings  in  his 
pocket, 

"I'm  *  Jinglin*  Geordie'  Heriot,"  he  announced 
136 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

"I'll  show  ye  hoo  a  prood  goldsmith  ance  smoked 
wi'  a  king." 

Then,  jauntily : ' '  Sandy,  gie  a  crack  to  '  Bluidy ' 
McKenzie's  door  an'  daur  the  auld  hornie  to  come 
oot." 

The  deed  was  done  amid  breathless  apprehen- 
sions, but  nothing  disturbed  the  silence  of  the 
May  noon  except  the  lark  that  sprang  at  their 
feet  and  soared  singing  into  the  blue.  It  was 
Sandy  who  presently  whistled  like  a  blackbird 
to  attract  the  attention  of  Bobby. 

There  were  no  blackbirds  in  the  kirkyard,  and 
Bobby  understood  the  signal.  He  scampered  up 
at  once  and  dashed  around  the  kirk,  all  excite- 
ment, for  he  had  had  many  adventures  with  the 
Heriot  boys  at  skating  and  hockey  on  Duddings- 
ton  Lock  in  the  winter,  and  tramps  over  the 
country  and  out  to  Leith  harbor  in  the  spring. 
The  laddies  prowled  along  the  upper  wall  of  the 
kirks,  opened  and  shut  the  wicket,  to  give  the 
caretaker  the  idea  that  they  had  come  in  decor- 
ously by  the  gate,  and  went  down  to  ask  him, 
with  due  respect  and  humility,  if  they  could  take 
Bobby  out  for  the  afternoon.  They  were  going 
to  mark  the  places  where  wild  flowers  might  be 
had,  to  decorate  "Jinglin*  Geordie's"  portrait, 
statue  and  tomb  at  the  school  on  Founder's 
Day. 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

Mr.  Brown  considered  them  with  a  glower  that 
made  the  boys  nudge  each  other  knowingly. 
"Saturday  isna  the  day  for  'im  to  be  gaen  aboot-. 
He  aye  has  a  washin'  an*  a  groomin'  to  mak 
fim  fit  for  the  Sabbath.  An',  by  the  leuk  o'  ye. 
ye'd  be  nane  the  waur  for  soap  an'  water  yei 
ainsel's." 

"We'll  gie  'im  'is  washin'  an'  combin'  the 
nicht,"  they  volunteered,  eagerly. 

"Weel,  noo,  he  wullna  hae  'is  dinner  till  the 
time-gun." 

Neither  would  they.  At  that,  annoyed  by 
their  persistence,  Mr.  Brown  denied  authority. 

"Ye  ken  weel  he  isna  ma  dog.  Ye'll  hae  to 
gang  up  an'  spier  Maister  Traill.  He's  fair  daft 
aboot  the  gude-for-naethin'  tyke." 

This  was  understood  as  permission.  As  the 
boys  ran  up  to  the  gate,  with  Bobby  at  their 
heels,  Mr.  Brown  called  after  them:  "Ye  fetch 
'im  hame  wi'  the  sunset  bugle,  an'  gin  ye  teach 
'im  ony  o'  yer  unmannerly  ways  I'll  tak'  a  stick 
to  yer  breeks." 

When  they  returned  to  Mr.  Train's  place  at 
two  o'clock  the  landlord  stood  in  shirt-sleeves 
and  apron  in  the  open  doorway  with  Bobby,  the 
Httle  dog  gripping  a  mutton  shank  in  his  mouth. 

' '  Bobby  must  tak'  his  bone  down  first  and  hide 
it  awa'.  The  Sabbath  in  a  kirkyard  is  a  dull 

13* 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

day  for  a  wee  dog,  so  he  aye  gets  a  catechism  of 
a  bone  to  mumble  over." 

The  landlord  sighed  in  open  envy  when  the 
laddies  and  the  little  dog  tumbled  down  the  Row 
to  the  Grassmarket  on  their  gypsy  ing.  His  eyes 
sought  out  the  glimpse  of  green  country  on  the 
dome  of  Arthur's  Seat,  that  loomed  beyond  the 
University  towers  to  the  east.  There  are  times 
when  the  heart  of  a  boy  goes  ill  with  the  sordid 
duties  of  the  man. 

Straight  down  the  length  of  the  empty  market 
the  laddies  ran,  through  the  crooked,  fascinating 
haunt  of  horses  and  jockeys  in  the  street  of 
King's  Stables,  then  northward  along  the  fronts 
of  quaint  little  handicrafts  shops  that  skirted 
Castle  Crag.  By  turning  westward  into  Queens- 
ferry  Street  a  very  few  minutes  would  have 
brought  them  to  a  bit  of  buried  country.  But 
every  expedition  of  Edinburgh  lads  of  spirit  of 
that  day  was  properly  begun  with  challenges  to 
scale  Castle  Rock  from  the  valley  park  of  Princes 
Street  Gardens  on  the  north. 

"I  daur  ye  to  gang  up!"  was  all  that  was 
necessary  to  set  any  group  of  youngsters  to  scal- 
ing the  precipice.  By  every  tree  and  ledge,  by 
every  cranny  and  point  of  rock,  stoutly  rooted 
hazel  and  thorn  bush  and  clump  of  gorse,  they 
climbed.  These  laddies  went  up  a  quarter  or  a 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

third  of  the  way  to  the  grim  ramparts  and  cama 
cautiously  down  again .  Bobby  scrambled  higher, 
tumbled  back  more  recklessly  and  fell,  head  over 
heels  and  upside  down,  on  the  daisied  turf.  He 
righted  himself  at  once,  and  yelped  in  sharp  pro- 
test. Then  he  sniffed  and  busied  himself  with 
pretenses,  in  the  elaborate  unconcern  with  which 
a  little  dog  denies  anything  discreditable.  There 
were  legends  of  daring  youth  having  climbed 
this  war-like  cliff  and  laying  hands  on  the  fortress 
wall,  but  Geordie  expressed  a  popular  feeling  in 
declaring  these  tales  "a'  lees." 

"No*  ony  laddie  could  gang  a*  the  way  up  an' 
come  rloon  wi'  'is  heid  no*  broken.  Bobby 
couldna  do  it,  an*  he's  mair  like  a  wild  fox  than 
an  ordinar'  dog.  Noo,  we're  the  Light  Brigade 
at  Balaklava.  Chairge!" 

The  Crimean  War  was  then  a  recent  event. 
Heroes  of  Sebastopol  answered  the  summons  of 
drum  and  bugle  in  the  Castle  and  fired  the  hearts 
of  Edinburgh  youth.  Cannon  all  around  them, 
and  "theirs  not  to  reason  why,"  this  little  band 
stormed  out  Queensferry  Street  and  went  down, 
hand  under  hand,  into  the  fairy  underworld  of 
Leith  Water, 

All  its  short  way  down  from  the  Pentlands  to 
the  sea,  the  Water  of  Leith  was  then  a  foaming 
little  river  of  mills,  twisting  at  the  bottom  of  9 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

gorge.  One  cliff-like  wall  or  the  other  lay  to  the 
sun  all  day,  so  that  the  way  was  lined  with  a 
profusion  of  every  wild  thing  that  turns  green 
and  blooms  in  the  Lowlands  of  Scotland.  And  it 
was  filled  to  the  brim  with  bird  song  and  water 
babble. 

A  crowd  of  laddies  had  only  to  go  inland  up 
this  gorge  to  find  wild  and  tame  bloom  enough  to 
bury  "Jinglin'  Geordie"  all  over  again  every 
year.  But  adventure  was  to  be  had  in  greater 
variety  by  dropping  seaward  with  the  bickering, 
brown  water.  These  waded  along  the  shallow 
margin,  walked  on  shelving  sands  of  gold,  and, 
where  the  channel  was  filled,  they  clung  to  the 
rocks  and  picked  their  way  along  dripping  ledges. 
Bobby  missed  no  chance  to  swim.  If  he  could 
scramble  over  rough  ground  like  a  squirrel  or  a 
fox,  he  could  swim  like  an  otter.  Swept  over  the 
low  dam  at  Dean  village,  where  a  cup-like  valley 
was  formed,  he  tumbled  over  and  over  in  the 
spray  and  was  all  but  drowned.  As  soon  as  he 
got  his  breath  and  his  bearings  he  struck  out 
frantically  for  the  bank,  shook  the  foam  from 
his  eyes  and  ears,  and  barked  indignantly  at  the 
saucy  fall.  The  white  miller  in  the  doorway  of 
the  gray-stone,  red-roofed  mill  laughed,  and 
anxious  children  ran  down  from  a  knot  of  story- 
book cottages  and  gay  dooryards. 

141 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

"I'll  gie  ye  ten  shullin's  for  the  sperity  bit 
dog/'  the  miller  shouted,  above  the  clatter  of  the 
wheel  and  the  swish  of  the  dam. 

"He  isna  oor  ain  dog,"  Geordie  called  back. 
"But  he  wullna  droon.  He's  got  a  gude  heid  to 
'im,  an'  wullna  be  sic  a  bittie  fule  anither  time." 

Indeed  he  had  a  good  head  on  him!  Bobby 
never  needed  a  second  lesson.  At  Silver  Mills 
and  Canon  Mills  he  came  out  and  trotted  warily 
around  the  dam.  Where  the  gorge  widened  to  a 
valley  toward  the  sea  they  all  climbed  up  to 
Leith  Walk,  that  ran  to  the  harbor,  and  came 
out  to  a  wonder-world  of  water-craft  anchored 
in  the  Firth.  Each  boy  picked  out  his  ship  to 
go  adventuring. 

"I'm  gangin'  to  Norway!" 

Geordie  was  scornful.  "Hoots,  ye  tame  pus- 
sies. Ye're  fleid  o'  gettin'  yer  feet  wat.  I'll  be 
rinnin'  aff  to  be  a  pirate.  Come  awa'  doon." 

They  followed  the  leader  along  shore  and 
boarded  an  abandoned  and  evil-smelling  fishing- 
boat.  There  they  ran  up  a  ragged  jacket  for  a 
black  flag.  But  sailing  a  stranded  craft  palled 
presently. 

"Nae,  I'm  gangin'  to  be  a  Crusoe.  Preserve 
me!  If  there's  no*  a  futprint  i'  the  sand! 
Bobby's  ma  sma'  man  Friday." 

Away  they  ran  southward  to  find  a  castaway's 
143 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

shelter  in  a  hollow  on  the  golf  links.  Soon  this 
was  transformed  into  a  wrecker's  den,  and  then 
into  the  hiding-place  of  a  harried  Covenanter 
fleeing  religious  persecution.  Daring  things  to 
do  swarmed  in  upon  their  minds,  for  Edinburgh 
laddies  live  in  a  city  of  romantic  history,  of  sol- 
diers, of  near-by  mountains,  and  of  sea-rovings. 
No  adventure  served  them  five  minutes,  and 
Bobby  was  in  every  one.  Ah,  lucky  Bobby,  to 
have  such  gay  playfellows  on  a  sunny  afternoon 
and  under  foot  the  open  country! 

And  fortunate  laddies  to  have  such  a  merry 
rascal  of  a  wee  dog  with  them !  To  the  mile  they 
ran,  Bobby  went  five,  scampering  in  wide  circles 
and  barking  and  louping  at  butterflies  and 
whaups.  He  made  a  detour  to  the  right  to  yelp 
saucily  at  the  red-coated  sentry  who  paced  be- 
fore the  Gothic  gateway  to  the  deserted  Palace 
of  Holyrood,  and  as  far  to  the  left  to  harry  the 
hoofs  of  a  regiment  of  cavalry  drilling  before  the 
barracks  at  Piershill.  He  raced  on  ahead  and 
swam  out  to  scatter  the  fleet  of  swan  sailing  on 
the  blue  mirror  of  Duddingston  Loch. 

The  tired  boys  lay  blissfully  up  the  sunny  side 
of  Arthur's  Seat  in  a  thicket  of  hazel  while 
Geordie  carried  out  a  daring  plan  for  which 
privacy  was  needed.  Bobby  was  solemnly  ar- 
raigned before  a  court  on  the  charge  of  being  a 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

seditious  Covenanting  meenister,  and  was  required 
to  take  the  oath  of  loyalty  to  English  King  and 
Church  on  pain  of  being  hanged  in  the  Grass- 
market.  The  oath  had  been  duly  written  out  on 
paper  and  greased  with  mutton  tallow  to  make 
it  more  palatable.  Bobby  licked  the  fat  off  with 
relish.  Then  he  took  the  paper  between  his 
sharp  little  teeth  and  merrily  tore  it  to  shreds. 
And,  having  finished  it,  he  barked  cheerful  de- 
fiance at  the  court.  The  lads  came  near  rolling 
down  the  slope  with  laughter,  and  they  gave  three 
cheers  for  the  little  hero.  Sandy  remarked: 

14  Ye  wadna  think,  noo,  sic  a  sonsie  doggie  wad 
be  leevin'  i'  the  murky  auld  kirkyaird." 

Bobby  had  learned  the  lay  of  the  tipped-up  and 
scooped-out  and  jumbled  auld  toon,  and  he  led 
the  way  homeward  along  the  southern  outskirts 
of  the  city.  He  turned  up  Nicolson  Street,  that 
ran  northward,  past  the  University  and  the  old 
infirmary.  To  get  into  Greyfriars  Place  from 
the  east  at  that  time  one  had  to  descend  to  the 
Cowgate  and  climb  out  again.  Bobby  darted 
down  the  first  of  the  narrow  wynds. 

Suddenly  he  turned  'round  and  'round  in  be- 
wilderment, then  shot  through  a  sculptured  door- 
way, into  a  well-like  court,  and  up  a  flight  of  stone 
stairs.  The  slamming  of  a  shutter  overhead 
shocked  him  to  a  standstill  on  the  landing  and 

144 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

sent  him  dropping  slowly  down  again.  What 
memories  surged  back  to  his  little  brain,  what 
grief  gripped  his  heart,  as  he  stood  trembling  on 
a  certain  spot  in  the  pavement  where  once  a  long 
deal  box  had  rested! 

4 '  What  ails  the  bittie  dog  ?"  There  was  some- 
thing here  that  sobered  the  thoughtless  boys. 
''Comeawa',  Bobby!" 

At  that  he  came  obediently  enough.  But  he 
trotted  down  the  very  middle  of  the  wynd,  head 
and  tail  low,  and  turned  unheeding  into  the 
Saturday-evening  roar  of  the  Cowgate.  He  re- 
fused to  follow  them  up  the  rise  between  St. 
Magdalen's  Chapel  and  the  eastern  parapet  of  the 
bridge,  but  kept  to  his  way  under  the  middle 
arch  into  the  Grassmarket.  By  way  of  Candle- 
makers  Row  he  gained  the  kirkyard  gate,  and 
when  the  wicket  was  opened  he  disappeared 
around  the  church.  When  Bobby  failed  to 
answer  calls,  Mr.  Brown  grumbled,  but  went 
after  him.  The  little  dog  submitted  to  his  vig- 
orous scrubbing  and  grooming,  but  he  refused 
his  supper.  Without  a  look  or  a  wag  of  the  tail 
he  was  gone  again. 

"Noo,  what  hae  ye  done  to  'im?  He's  no*  like 
*is  ainsel*  ava." 

They  had  done  nothing,  indeed.  They  could 
only  relate  Bobby's  strange  behavior  in  College 

MS 


GREYFRIARS   BOBBY 

Wynd  and  the  rest  of  the  way  home.  Mistresc 
Jeanie  nodded  her  head,  with  the  wisdom  of 
women  that  is  of  the  heart. 

"Eh,  Jamie,  that  wad  be  whaur  'is  maister 
deed  sax  months  syne."  And  having  said  it  she 
slipped  down  the  slope  with  her  knitting  and  sat 
on  the  mound  beside  the  mourning  little  dog. 

When  the  awe-struck  lads  asked  for  the  story 
Mr.  Brown  shook  his  head.  "Ye  spier  Maister 
Traill.  He  kens  a'  aboot  it;  an*  syne  he  can  talk 
like  a  beuk." 

Before  they  left  the  kirkyard  the  laddies 
walked  down  to  Auld  Jock's  grave  and  patted 
Bobby  on  the  head,  and  they  went  away  thought- 
fully to  their  scattered  homes. 

As  on  that  first  morning  when  his  grief  was 
new,  Bobby  woke  to  a  Calvinistic  Sabbath. 
There  were  no  rattling  carts  or  hawkers  crying 
their  wares.  Steeped  in  sunshine,  the  Castle 
loomed  golden  into  the  blue.  Tenement  dwell- 
ers slept  late,  and  then  moved  about  quietly. 
Children  with  unwontedly  clean  faces  came  out 
to  galleries  and  stairs  to  study  their  catechisms. 
Only  the  birds  were  unaware  of  the  seventh  day, 
and  went  about  their  melodious  business;  and 
flower  buds  opened  to  the  sun. 

In  mid-morning  there  suddenly  broke  on  the 
sweet  stillness  that  clamor  of  discordant  bells 

146 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

that  made  the  wayfarer  in  Edinburgh  stop  his 
ears.  All  the  way  from  Leith  Harbor  to  the 
Burghmuir  eight  score  of  warring  bells  con- 
tended to  be  heard.  Greyfriars  alone  was  silent 
in  that  babblement,  for  it  had  lost  tower  and  bell 
in  an  explosion  of  gunpowder.  And  when  the 
din  ceased  at  last  there  was  a  sound  o?  military 
music.  The  Castle  gates  swung  v^e,  and  a 
kilted  regiment  marched  down  High  Street 
playing  "God  Save  the  Queen/'  When  Bobby 
was  in  good  spirits  the  marching  music  got 
into  his  legs  and  set  him  to  dancing  scandal- 
ously. The  caretaker  and  his  wifie  always 
came  around  the  kirk  on  pleasant  mornings  to 
see  the  bonny  sight  of  the  gay  soldiers  going  to 
church. 

To  wee  Bobby  these  good,  comfortable,  every- 
day friends  of  his  must  have  seemed  strange  in 
their  black  garments  and  their  serious  Sunday 
faces.  And,  ah !  the  Sabbath  must,  indeed,  have 
been  a  dull  day  to  the  little  dog.  He  had  learned 
that  when  the  earliest  comer  clicked  the  wicket 
he  must  go  under  the  table-tomb  and  console 
himself  with  the  extra  bone  that  Mr.  Traill  never 
failed  to  remember.  With  an  hour's  respite  for 
dinner  at  the  lodge,  between  the  morning  and 
afternoon  services,  he  lay  there  all  day.  The 
restaurant  was  closed,  and  there  was  no  running 

M7 


GREYFRIARS   BOBBY 

about  for  good  dogs.  In  the  early  dark  of  wintef 
he  could  come  out  and  trot  quietly  about  tho 
silent,  deserted  place. 

As  soon  as  the  crocuses  pushed  their  green 
noses  through  the  earth  in  the  spring  the  con- 
gregation began  to  linger  among  the  graves,  for 
to  see  ajL  old  burying-ground  renew  its  life  is  a 
peculiar  promise  of  the  resurrection.  By  mid- 
summer visitors  were  coming  from  afar,  some 
even  from  over-sea,  to  read  the  quaint  inscrip- 
tion&  on  the  old  tombs,  or  to  lay  tributes  of 
flowers  on  the  graves  of  poets  and  religious 
heroes.  It  was  not  until  the  late  end  of  such  a 
day  that  Bobby  could  come  out  of  hiding  to 
stretch  his  cramped  legs.  Then  it  was  that  ten- 
ement children  dropped  from  low  windows,  over 
the  tombs,  and  ate  their  suppers  of  oat-cake 
there  in  the  fading  light. 

When  Mr.  Traill  left  the  kirkyard  in  the  bright 
evening  of  the  last  Sunday  in  May  he  stopped 
without  to  wait  for  Dr.  Lee,  the  minister  of 
Greyfriars  auld  kirk,  who  had  been  behind  him 
to  the  gate.  Now  he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 
With  Bobby  ever  in  the  background  of  his  mind, 
at  such  times  of  possible  discovery,  Mr.  Traill  re- 
entered  the  kirkyard.  The  minister  was  sitting 
on  the  fallen  slab,  tall  silk  hat  off,  with  Mr. 
Brown  standing  beside  him,  uncovered  and 

148 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

miserable  of  aspect,  and  Bobby  looking  up 
anxiously  at  this  new  element  in  his  fate. 

"Do  you  think  it  seemly  for  a  dog  to  be  living 
in  the  churchyard,  Mr.  Brown  ?"  The  minister's 
voice  was  merely  kind  and  inquiring,  but  the 
caretaker  was  in  fault,  and  this  good  English 
was  disconcerting.  However,  his  conscience  ac- 
quitted him  of  moral  wrong,  and  his  sturdy 
Scotch  independence  came  to  the  rescue. 

"Gin  a  bit  dog,  wha  hauds  'is  gab,  isna 
seemly,  thae  pussies  are  the  deil's  ain  bairns." 

The  minister  lifted  his  hand  in  rebuke.  "Re- 
member the  Sabbath  Day.  And  I  see  no  cats, 
Mr.  Brown." 

"Ye  wullna  see  ony  as  lang  as  the  wee  doggie 
is  leevin'  i'  the  kirkyaird.  An'  the  vermin  hae 
sneekit  awa'  the  first  time  sin'  Queen  Mary's  day. 
An'  syne  there's  mair  singin'  birdies  than  for 
mony  a  year." 

Mr.  Traill  had  listened,  unseen.  Now  he 
came  forward  with  a  gay  challenge  in  broad 
Scotch  to  put  the  all  but  routed  caretaker  at  his 
ease. 

"Doctor,  I  hae  a  queistion  to  spier  ye.  Which 
is  mair  unseemly:  a  weel-behavin'  bittie  tyke  i' 
the  kirkyaird  or  a  scandalous  organ  i'  the  kirk?" 

"Ah,  Mr.  Traill,  I'm  afraid  you're  a  sad,  ir- 
reverent young  dog  yourself,  sir."  The  minister 

11  149 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

broke  into  a  genial  laugh .  *  *  Man ,  you*  ve  spoiled 
a  bit  of  fun  I  was  having  with  Mr.  Brown,  who 
takes  his  duties  'sairiously.'"  He  sat  looking 
down  at  the  little  dog  until  Bobby  came  up  to 
him  and  stood  confidingly  under  his  caressing 
hand.  Then  he  added:  "I  have  suspected  for 
some  months  that  he  was  living  in  the  church- 
yard. It  is  truly  remarkable  that  an  active, 
noisy  little  Skye  could  keep  so  still  about  it." 

At  that  Mr.  Brown  retreated  to  the  martyrs' 
monument  to  meditate  on  the  unministerial  be- 
havior of  this  minister  and  professor  of  Biblical 
criticism  in  the  University.  Mr.  Traill,  however, 
sat  himself  down  on  the  slab  for  a  pleasant 
probing  into  the  soul  of  this  courageous  dominie, 
who  had  long  been  under  fire  for  his  innovations 
in  the  kirk  services. 

' '  I  heard  of  Bobby  first  early  in  the  winter,  from 
a  Bible-reader  at  the  Medical  Mission  in  the 
Cowgate,  who  saw  the  little  dog's  master  buried. 
He  sees  many  strange,  sad  things  in  his  work,  but 
nothing  ever  shocked  him  so  as  the  lonely  death 
of  that  pious  old  shepherd  in  such  a  picturesque 
den  of  vice  and  misery." 

"Ay,  he  went  from  my  place,  fair  ill,  into  the 
storm.  I  never  knew  whaur  the  auld  man  died." 

The  minister  looked  at  Mr.  Traill,  struck  by 
the  note  of  remorse  in  his  tone. 

150 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

"The  missionary  returned  to  the  churchyard 
to  look  for  the  dog  that  had  refused  to  leave  the 
grave.  He  concluded  that  Bobby  had  gone 
away  to  a  new  home  and  master,  as  most  dogs 
do  go  sooner  or  later.  Some  weeks  afterward  the 
minister  of  a  small  church  in  the  hills  inquired 
for  him  and  insisted  that  he  was  still  here.  This 
last  week,  at  the  General  Assembly,  I  heard  of  the 
wee  Highlander  from  several  sources.  The  tales 
of  his  escapes  from  the  sheep-farm  have  grown 
into  a  sort  of  Odyssey  of  the  Pentlands.  I  think, 
perhaps,  if  you  had  not  continued  to  feed  him,  Mr. 
Traill,  he  might  have  remained  at  his  old  home." 

"Nae,  I'm  no*  thinking  so,  and  I  was  no*  will- 
ing to  risk  the  starvation  of  the  bonny,  leal 
Highlander.'1 

Until  the  stars  came  out  Mr.  Traill  sat  there 
telling  the  story.  At  mention  of  his  master's 
name  Bobby  returned  to  the  mound  and  stretched 
himself  across  it.  "I  will  go  before  the  kirk 
officers,  Doctor  Lee,  and  tak'  full  responseebility. 
Mr.  Brown  is  no'  to  blame.  It  would  have 
tak'n  a  man  with  a  heart  of  trap-rock  to  have 
turned  the  woeful  bit  dog  out." 

"He  is  well  cared  for  and  is  of  a  hardy  breed, 
so  he  is  not  likely  to  suffer;  but  a  dog,  no  more 
than  a  man,  cannot  live  on  bread  alone.  His 
heart  hungers  for  love." 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

"Losh!"  cried  Mr.  Brown.  "Are  ye  thinkin* 
he  isna  gettin'  it  ?  Oor  bairns  are  a1  oot  o'  the 
hame  nest,  an*  ma  woman,  Jeanie,  is  fair  daft 
aboot  Bobby,  aye  thinkin'  he'll  tak*  the  measles. 
An'  syne,  there's  a'  the  tenement  bairns  cryin' 
oot  on  'im  ilka  meenit,  an*  ane  crippled  laddie 
he  e'en  lets  fondle  'im." 

"Still,  it  would  be  better  if  he  belonged  to 
some  one  master.  Everybody's  dog  is  nobody's 
dog,"  the  minister  insisted.  "I  wish  you  could 
attach  him  to  you,  Mr.  Traill." 

"Ay,  it's  a  disappointment  to  me  that  he'll 
no*  bide  with  me.  Perhaps,  in  time — " 

"It's  nae  use,  ava,"  Mr.  Brown  interrupted, 
and  he  related  the  incident  of  the  evening  before. 
"He's  cheerfu'  eneugh  maist  o'  the  time,  an'  likes 
to  be  wi'  the  laddies  as  weel  as  ony  dog,  but  he 
isna  forgettin'  Auld  Jock.  The  wee  doggie  cam* 
again  to  'is  maister's  buryin'.  Man,  ye  ne'er 
saw  the  like  o'  it.  The  wifie  found  'im  flattened 
oot  to  a  furry  door-mat,  an'  greetin'  to  brak  'is 
heart." 

"It's  a  remarkable  story;  and  he's  a  beautiful 
little  dog,  and  a  leal  one."  The  minister  stooped 
and  patted  Bobby,  and  he  was  thoughtful  all  the 
way  to  the  gate. 

"The  matter  need  not  be  brought  up  in  any 
formal  way.  I  will  speak  to  the  elders  and 

152 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

deacons  about  it  privately,  and  refer  those  want- 
ing details  to  you,  Mr.  Traill.  Mr.  Brown,"  he 
called  to  the  caretaker  who  stood  in  the  lodge 
door,  "it  cannot  be  pleasing  to  God  to  see  the 
little  creature  restraint  Give  Bobby  his  lib- 
erty on  the  Sabbath,' 


IT  was  more  than  eight  years  after  Auld  Jock 
fled  from  the  threat  of  a  doctor  that  Mr. 
Traill's  prediction,  that  his  tongue  would  get 
him  into  trouble  with  the  magistrates,  was  ful- 
filled; and  then  it  was  because  of  the  least-con- 
sidered slip  in  speaking  to  a  boyhood  friend  who 
happened  to  be  a  Burgh  policeman. 

Many  things  had  tried  the  landlord  of  Ye  Olde 
Greyfriars  Dining-Rooms.  After  a  series  of  soft 
April  days,  in  which  lilacs  budded  and  birds 
sang  in  the  kirkyard,  squalls  of  wind  and  rain 
came  up  out  of  the  sea-roaring  east.  The  smoky 
old  town  of  Edinburgh  was  so  shaken  and 
beaten  upon  and  icily  drenched  that  rattling 
finials  and  tiles  were  torn  from  ancient  gables 
and  whirled  abroad.  Rheumatic  pains  were 
driven  into  the  joints  of  the  elderly.  Mr.  Brown 
took  to  his  bed  in  the  lodge,  and  Mr.  Traill  was 
touchy  in  his  temper. 

A  sensitive  little  do£  learns  to  read  the  human 
barometer  with  a  degree  of  accuracy  rarely  at- 
tained by  fellowmen  and,  in  times  of  low  pres- 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

sure,  wisely  effaces  himself.  His  rough  thatch 
streaming,  Bobby  trotted  in  blithely  for  his 
dinner,  ate  it  under  the  settle,  shook  himself  dry, 
and  dozed  half  the  afternoon. 

To  the  casual  observer  the  wee  terrier  was  no 
older  than  when  his  master  died.  As  swift  of 
foot  and  as  sound  of  wind  as  he  had  ever  been, 
he  could  tear  across  country  at  the  heels  of  a  new 
generation  of  Heriot  laddies  and  be  as  fresh  as 
a  daisy  at  nightfall.  Silvery  gray  all  over,  the 
whitening  hairs  on  his  face  and  tufted  feet  were 
not  visible.  His  hazel-brown  eyes  were  still  as 
bright  and  soft  and  deep  as  the  sunniest  pools  of 
Leith  Water.  It  was  only  when  he  opened  his 
mouth  for  a  tiny,  pink  cavern  of  a  yawn  that  the 
points  of  his  teeth  could  be  seen  to  be  wearing 
down;  and  his  after-dinner  nap  was  more  pro- 
longed than  of  old.  At  such  times  Mr.  Traill 
recalled  that  the  longest  life  of  a  dog  is  no  more 
than  a  fifth  of  the  length  of  days  allotted  to  man. 

On  that  snarling  April  day,  when  only  himself 
and  the  flossy  ball  of  sleeping  Skye  were  in  the 
place,  this  thought  added  to  Mr.  Train's  discon- 
tent. There  had  been  few  guests.  Those  who 
had  come  in,  soaked  and  surly,  ate  their  dinner  in 
silence  and  discomfort  and  took  themselves 
away,  leaving  the  freshly  scrubbed  floor  as 
mucky  as  a  moss-hag  on  the  moor.  Late  in  the 

155 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

afternoon  a  sergeant,  risen  from  the  ranks  and 
cocky  about  it,  came  in  and  turned  himself  out  of 
a  dripping  greatcoat,  dapper  and  dry  in  his  red 
tunic,  pipe-clayed  belt,  and  winking  buttons. 
He  ordered  tea  and  toast  and  Dundee  marmalade 
with  an  air  of  gay  well-being  that  was  no  less  than 
a  personal  affront  to  a  man  in  Mr.  Traill's  frame 
of  mind.  Trouble  brewed  with  the  tea  that  Ailie 
Lindsey,  a  tall  lassie  of  fifteen,  but  shy  and 
elfish  as  of  old,  brought  in  on  a  tray  from  the 
scullery. 

When  this  spick-and-span  non-commissioned 
officer  demanded  Mr.  Traill's  price  for  the  little 
dog  that  took  his  eye,  the  landlord  replied  curtly 
that  Bobby  was  not  for  sale.  The  soldier  was 
insolently  amused. 

"That's  vera  surprisin'.  I  aye  thoucht  an 
Edinburgh  shopkeeper  wad  sell  ilka  thing  he 
had,  an'  tak'  the  siller  to  bed  wi'  'im  to  keep  'im 
snug  the  nicht." 

Mr.  Traill  returned,  with  brief  sarcasm,  that 
"his  lairdship"  had  been  misinformed. 

"Why  wull  ye  no'  sell  the  bit  dog?"  the  man 
insisted. 

The  badgered  landlord  turned  upon  him  and 
answered  at  length,  after  the  elaborate  manner  of 
a  minister  who  lays  his  sermon  off  in  sections: 

"First:  he's  no*  my  dog  to  sell.    Second:  he's 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

a  dog  of  rare  discreemination,  and  is  no'  like 
to  tak'  you  for  a  master.  Third:  you  soldiers 
aye  have  with  you  a  special  brand  of  shulling- 
a-day  impudence.  And,  fourth  and  last,  my 
blither:  I'm  no'  needing  your  siller,  and  I  can 
manage  to  do  fair  weel  without  your  con- 
versation." 

As  this  bombardment  proceeded,  the  sergeant's 
jaw  dropped.  When  it  was  finished  he  laughed 
heartily  and  slapped  his  knee.  "Man,  come  an' 
brak  bread  wi'  me  or  I'll  hae  to  brak  yer  stiff 
neck." 

A  truce  was  declared  over  a  cozy  pot  of  tea, 
and  the  two  became  at  least  temporary  friends. 
It  was  such  a  day  that  the  landlord  would  have 
gossiped  with  a  gaol-bird ;  and  when  a  soldier  who 
has  seen  years  of  service,  much  of  it  in  strange 
lands,  once  admits  a  shopkeeper  to  equality,  he 
can  be  affable  and  entertaining  ' '  by  the  ordinar' ." 
Mr.  Traill  sketched  Bobby's  story  broadly,  and 
to  a  sympathetic  listener;  and  the  soldier  told 
the  landlord  of  the  animals  that  had  lived  and 
died  in  the  Castle. 

Parrots  and  monkeys  and  strange  dogs  and 
cats  had  been  brought  there  by  regiments  re- 
turning from  foreign  countries  and  colonies. 
But  most  of  the  pets  had  been  native  dogs — 
collies,  spaniels  and  terriers,  and  animals  of 

157 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

mixed  breeds  and  of  no  breed  at  all,  but  just  good 
dogs.  No  one  knew  when  the  custom  began,  but 
there  was  an  old  and  well -filled  cemetery  for 
the  Castle  pets.  When  a  dog  died  a  little  stone 
was  set  up,  with  the  name  of  the  animal  and  the 
regiment  to  which  it  had  belonged  on  it.  Sol- 
diers often  went  there  among  the  tiny  mounds 
and  told  stories  of  the  virtues  and  taking  ways 
of  old  favorites.  And  visitors  read  the  names  of 
Flora  and  Guy  and  Dandie,  of  Prince  Charlie  and 
Rob  Roy,  of  Jeanie  and  Bruce  and  Wattie.  It 
was  a  merry  life  for  a  dog  in  the  Castle.  He  was 
petted  and  spoiled  by  homesick  men,  and  when 
he  died  there  were  a  thousand  mourners  at  his 
funeral. 

"Put  it  to  the  bit  Skye  noo.  If  he  tak's  the 
Queen's  shullin'  he  belongs  to  the  army."  The 
sergeant  flipped  a  coin  before  Bobby,  who  was 
wagging  his  tail  and  sniffing  at  the  military  boots 
with  his  ever  lively  interest  in  soldiers. 

He  looked  up  at  the  tossed  coin  indifferently, 
and  when  it  fell  to  the  floor  he  let  it  lie.  "Sil- 
ler" has  no  meaning  to  a  dog.  His  love  can  be 
purchased  with  nothing  less  than  his  chosen 
master's  heart.  The  soldier  sighed  at  Bobby's 
indifference.  He  introduced  himself  as  Ser- 
geant Scott,  of  the  Royal  Engineers,  detailed 
from  headquarters  to  direct  the  work  in  the 

158 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

Castle  crafts  shops.  Engineers  rank  high  in 
pay  and  in  consideration,  and  it  was  no  ordinary 
Jack  of  all  trades  who  had  expert  knowledge  of 
so  many  skilled  handicrafts.  Mr.  TraiU's  respect 
and  liking  for  the  man  increased  with  the  passing 
moments. 

As  the  sergeant  departed  he  warned  Mr.  Traill, 
laughingly,  that  he  meant  to  kidnap  Bobby  the 
very  first  chance  he  got.  The  Castle  pet  had 
died,  and  Bobby  was  altogether  too  good  a  dog 
to  be  wasted  on  a  moldy  auld  kirkyard  and 
thrown  on  a  dust-cart  when  he  came  to  die. 

Mr.  Traill  resented  the  imputation.  "  He'll 
no'  be  thrown  on  a  dust-cart!" 

The  door  was  shut  on  the  mocking  retort: 
"Hoo  do  ye  ken  he  wullna?" 

And  there  was  food  for  gloomy  reflection .  The 
landlord  could  not  know,  in  truth,  what  Bobby's 
ultimate  fate  might  be.  But  little  over  nine  years 
of  age,  he  should  live  only  five  or  six  years  longer 
at  most.  Of  his  friends,  Mr.  Brown  was  ill  and 
aging,  and  might  have  to  give  place  to  a  younger 
man.  He  himself  was  in  his  prime,  but  he 
could  not  be  certain  of  living  longer  than  this 
hardy  little  dog.  For  the  first  time  he  realized 
the  truth  of  Dr.  Lee's  saying  that  everybody's 
dog  was  nobody's  dog.  The  tenement  children 
held  Bobby  in  a  sort  of  community  affection. 


GREYFRIARS   BOBBY 

He  was  the  special  pet  of  the  Heriot  laddies,  but 
a  class  was  sent  into  the  world  every  year  and  was 
scattered  far.  Not  one  of  all  the  hundreds  ol 
bairns  who  had  known  and  loved  this  little  dog 
could  give  him  any  real  care  or  protection. 

For  the  rest,  Bobby  had  remained  almost  un- 
known. Many  of  the  congregations  of  old  and 
new  Greyfriars  had  never  seen  or  heard  of  him. 
When  strangers  were  about  he  seemed  to  prefer 
lying  in  his  retreat  under  the  fallen  tomb.  His 
Sunday-afternoon  naps  he  usually  took  in  the 
lodge  kitchen.  And  so,  it  might  very  well  happen 
that  his  old  age  would  be  friendless,  that  he 
would  come  to  some  forlorn  end,  and  be  carried 
away  on  the  dustman's  cart.  It  might,  indeed, 
be  better  for  him  to  end  his  days  in  love  and 
honor  in  the  Castle.  But  to  this  solution  of  the 
problem  Mr.  Traill  himself  was  not  reconciled. 

Sensing  some  shifting  of  the  winds  in  the  man's 
soul,  Bobby  trotted  over  to  lick  his  hand.  Then 
he  sat  up  on  the  hearth  and  lolled  his  tongue,  re- 
minding the  good  landlord  that  he  had  one 
cheerful  friend  to  bear  him  company  on  the 
blaw-weary  day.  It  was  thus  they  sat,  compan- 
ionably,  when  a  Burgh  policeman  who  was  well 
known  to  Mr.  Traill  came  in  to  dry  himself  by 
the  fire.  Gloomy  thoughts  were  dispelled  sfc 
once  by  the  instinct  of  hospitality. 

160 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

"You're  fair  wet,  man.  Pull  a  chair  to  the 
hearth.  And  you  have  a  bit  smut  on  your  nose, 
Davie." 

"It's  frae  the  railway  engine.  Edinburgh 
was  a  reekie  toon  eneugh  afore  the  engines  cam* 
in  an'  belched  smuts  in  ilka  body's  faces."  The 
policeman  was  disgusted  and  discouraged  by 
three  days  of  wet  clothing,  and  he  would  have 
to  go  out  into  the  rain  again  before  he  got  dry. 
Nothing  occurred  to  him  to  talk  about  but 
grievances. 

"Did  ye  ken  the  Laird  Provost,  Maister 
Chambers,  is  intendin'  to  knock  a  lang  hole 
aboon  the  tap  o*  the  Coogate  wynds?  It  wull 
mak'  a  braid  street  ye  can  leuk  doon  frae  yer 
doorway  here.  The  gude  auld  days  gangin'  doon 
in  a  muckle  dust!" 

"Ay,  the  sun  will  peep  into  foul  places  it  hasn't 
seen  sin'  Queen  Mary's  day.  And,  Davie,  it 
would  be  more  according  to  the  gude  auld  cus- 
toms you're  so  fond  of  to  call  Mr.  William 
Chambers  'Glenormiston*  for  his  bit  country 
place." 

"He's  no' a  laird." 

"Nae;  but  he'll  be  a  laird  the  next  time  the 
Queen  shows  her  bonny  face  north  o'  the  Tweed. 
Tak'  'a  cup  o'  kindness'  with  me,  man.  Hot 
toy  will  tak*  the  cauld  out  of  your  disposeetion." 

101 


GREYFRIARS   BOBBY 

Mr.  Traill  pulled  a  bell-cord  and  Ailie,  unused 
as  yet  to  bells,  put  her  startled  little  face  in  at 
the  door  to  the  scullery.  At  sight  of  the  police- 
man she  looked  more  than  ever  like  a  scared 
rabbit,  and  her  hands  shook  when  she  set  the 
tray  down  before  him.  A  tenement  child  grew 
up  in  an  atmosphere  of  hostility  to  uniformed 
authority,  which  seldom  appeared  except  to  inter- 
fere with  what  were  considered  personal  affairs. 

The  tea  mollified  the  dour  man,  but  there  was 
one  more  rumbling.  "I'm  no*  denyin'  the 
Provost's  gude-hearted.  Ance  he  got  up  a  hame 
for  gaen-aboot  dogs,  an'  he  had  naethin'  to  mak' 
by  that.  But  he  canna  keep  'is  spoon  oot  o* 
ilka  body's  porridge.  He's  fair  daft  to  tear  doon 
the  wa's  that  cut  St.  Giles  up  into  fower,  snod, 
white  kirks,  an*  mak'  it  the  ane  muckle  kirk  it 
was  in  auld  Papist  days.  There  are  folk  that 
say,  gin  he  doesna  leuk  oot,  anither  kale  wifie  wull 
be  throwin'  a  bit  stool  at  'is  meddlin'  heid." 

"Eh,  nae  doubt.  There's  aye  a  plentifu* 
supply  o'  fules  in  the  warld." 

Seeing  his  good  friend  so  well  entertained,  and 
needing  his  society  no  longer,  Bobby  got  up, 
wagged  his  tail  in  farewell,  and  started  toward 
the  door.  Mr.  Traill  summoned  the  little  maid 
and  spoke  to  her  kindly:  "Give  Bobby  a  bone, 
lassie,  and  then  open  the  door  for  him." 

162 


GREYFRIARS   BOBBY 

In  carrying  out  these  instructions  Ailie  gave 
the  policeman  as  wide  leeway  as  possible  and 
kept  a  wary  eye  upon  him.  The  officer's  duties 
were  chiefly  up  on  High  Street.  He  seldom 
crossed  the  bridge,  and  it  happened  that  he  had 
never  seen  Bobby  before.  Just  by  way  of  making 
conversation  he  remarked,  "I  didna  ken  ye 
had  a  dog,  John." 

Ailie  stopped  stock  still,  the  cups  on  the  tray 
she  was  taking  out  tinkling  from  her  agitation. 
It  was  thus  policemen  spoke  at  private  doors 
in  the  dark  tenements :  "I  didna  ken  ye  had  the 
smallpox."  But  Mr.  Traill  seemed  in  no  way 
alarmed.  He  answered  with  easy  indulgence: 
"That's  no'  surprising.  There's  mony  a  thing 
you  dinna  ken,  Da  vie." 

The  landlord  forgot  the  matter  at  once,  but 
Ailie  did  not,  for  she  saw  the  officer  flush  darkly 
and,  having  no  answer  ready,  go  out  in  silence. 
In  truth,  the  good-humored  sarcasm  rankled  in 
the  policeman's  breast.  An  hour  later  he  sud- 
denly came  to  a  standstill  below  the  clock  tower 
of  the  Tron  kirk  on  High  Street,  and  he  chuckled. 

"Eh,  John  Traill.  Ye're  unco'  weel  furnished 
i'  the  heid,  but  there's  ane  or  twa  things  ye 
dinna  ken  yer  ainsel'." 

Entirely  taken  up  with  his  brilliant  idea,  he 
tost  no  time  in  putting  it  to  work.  He  dodged 

163 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

among  the  standing  cabs  and  around  the  but- 
tresses of  St.  Giles  that  projected  into  the 
thoroughfare.  In  the  mid-century  there  was  a 
police  office  in  the  middle  of  the  front  of  the 
historic  old  cathedral  that  had  then  fallen  to  its 
lowest  ebb  of  fortune.  There  the  officer  reported 
a  matter  that  was  strictly  within  the  line  of  his 
duty. 

Very  early  the  next  morning  he  was  standing 
before  the  door  of  Mr.  Train's  place,  in  the  fitful 
sunshine  of  clearing  skies,  when  the  landlord 
appeared  to  begin  the  business  of  the  day. 

"Are  ye  Maister  John  Train?" 

"Havers,  Da  vie!  What  ails  you,  man?  You 
know  my  name  as  weel  as  you  know  your  ain." 

"It's  juist  a  formality  o'  the  law  to  mak'  ye 
admit  yer  identity.  Here's  a  bit  paper  for  ye." 
He  thrust  an  official-looking  document  into  Mr. 
Traill's  hand  and  took  himself  away  across  the 
bridge,  fair  satisfied  with  his  conduct  of  an  affair 
of  subtlety. 

It  required  five  minutes  for  Mr.  Traill  to  take 
in  the  import  of  the  legal  form.  Then  a  wrath- 
ful explosion  vented  itself  on  the  unruly  key  that 
persisted  in  dodging  the  keyhole.  But  once 
within  he  read  the  paper  again,  put  it  away 
thoughtfully  in  an  inner  pocket,  and  outward- 
ly subsided  to  his  ordinary  aspect.  He  des- 

164 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

patched  the  business  of  the  day  with  unusual 
attention  to  details  and  courtesy  to  guests,  and 
when,  in  mid-afternoon,  the  place  was  empty,  he 
followed  Bobby  to  the  kirkyard  and  inquired 
at  the  lodge  if  he  could  see  Mr.  Brown. 

"He  isna  so  ill,  noo,  Maister  Traill,  but  I 
wadna  advise  ye  to  hae  muckle  to  say  to  'im." 
Mistress  Jeanie  wore  the  arch  look  of  the  wifie 
who  is  somewhat  amused  by  a  convalescent  hus- 
band's ill  humors.  "The  pains  grupped  'im 
sair,  an'  noo  that  he's  easier  he'd  see  us  a'  hanged 
wi'  pleesure.  Is  it  ony thing  by  the  ordinar'  ?" 

"Nae.  It's  just  a  sma'  matter  I  can  attend 
to  my  ainsel'.  Do  you  think  he  could  be  out  the 
morn?" 

4 'No'  afore  a  week  or  twa,  an*  syne,  gin  the 
bonny  sun  comes  oot  to  bide  a  wee." 

Mr.  Traill  left  the  kirkyard  and  went  out  to 
George  Square  to  call  upon  the  minister  of 
Greyfriars  auld  kirk.  The  errand  was  unfruitful, 
and  he  was  back  in  ten  minutes,  to  spend  the 
evening  alone,  without  even  the  consolation  of 
Bobby's  company,  for  the  little  dog  was  unhappy 
outside  the  kirkyard  after  sunset.  And  he  took 
an  unsettling  thought  to  bed  with  him. 

Here  was  a  pretty  kettle  of  fish,  indeed,  for  a 
respected  member  of  a  kirk  and  middle-aged 
business  man  to  fry  in.  Through  the  legal 

12  165 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

verbiage  Mr.  Traill  made  out  that  he  was  sum- 
moned to  appear  before  whatever  magistrate 
happened  to  be  sitting  on  the  morrow  in  the 
Burgh  court,  to  answer  to  the  charge  of  owning, 
or  harboring,  one  dog,  upon  which  he  had  not 
paid  the  license  tax  of  seven  shillings. 

For  all  its  absurdity  it  was  no  laughing  matter. 
The  municipal  court  of  Edinburgh  was  of  far 
greater  dignity  than  the  ordinary  justice  court  of 
the  United  Kingdom  and  of  America.  The  civic 
bench  was  occupied,  in  turn,  by  no  less  a  personage 
than  the  Lord  Provost  as  chief,  and  by  five  other 
magistrates  elected  by  the  Burgh  council  from 
among  its  own  membership.  Men  of  standing  in 
business,  legal  and  University  circles,  considered 
it  an  honor  and  a  duty  to  bring  their  knowledge 
and  responsibility  to  bear  on  the  pettiest  police 
cases. 

It  was  morning  before  Mr.  Traill  had  the 
glimmer  of  an  idea  to  take  with  him  on  this 
unlucky  business.  An  hour  before  the  opening 
of  court  he  crossed  the  bridge  into  High  Street, 
which  was  then  as  picturesquely  Gothic  and 
decaying  and  overpopulated  as  the  Cowgate, 
but  high-set,  wind-swept  and  sun-searched,  all 
the  way  up  the  sloping  mile  from  Holyrood  Pal- 
ace to  the  Castle.  The  ridge  fell  away  steeply, 
through  rifts  of  wynds  and  closes,  to  the  Cow- 

166 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

gate  ravine  on  the  one  hand,  and  to  Princes 
Street's  parked  valley  on  the  other.  Mr.  Traill 
turned  into  the  narrow  descent  of  Warriston 
Close.  Little  more  than  a  crevice  in  the  precipice 
of  tall,  old  buildings,  on  it  fronted  a  business 
house  whose  firm  name  was  known  wherever  the 
English  language  was  read:  "W.  and  R.  Cham- 
bers, Publishers." 

From  top  to  bottom  the  place  was  gas-lit,  even 
on  a  sunny  spring  morning,  and  it  hummed  and 
clattered  with  printing-presses.  No  one  was  in 
the  little  anteroom  to  the  editorial  offices  beside 
a  young  clerk,  but  at  sight  of  a  red-headed, 
freckle-faced  Heriot  laddie  of  Bobby's  puppy- 
hood  days  Mr.  Traill's  spirits  rose. 

"A  gude  day  to  you,  Sandy  McGregor;  and 
whaur's  your  auld  twin  conspirator,  Geordie 
Ross?" 

"He's  a  student  in  the  Medical  College,  Mr. 
Traill.  He  went  by  this  meenit  to  the  Bo- 
tanical Garden  for  herbs  my  grandmither  has  aye 
known  without  books."  Sandy  grinned  in  ap- 
preciation of  this  foolishness,  but  he  added,  with 
Scotch  shrewdness,  "It's  gude  for  the  book- 
prenting  beesiness." 

"Itisso,"  the  landlord  agreed,  heartily.  "But 
you  must  no*  be  forgetting  that  the  Chambers 
brothers  war  book  readers  and  sellers  before  they 

167 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

war  publishers.  You  are  weel  set  up  in  life, 
laddie,  and  Heriot's  has  pulled  the  warst  of  the 
burrs  from  your  tongue.  I'm  wanting  to  sea 
Glenormiston." 

"Mr.  William  Chambers  is  no*  in.  Mr.  Robert 
is  aye  in,  but  he's  no*  liking  to  be  fashed  about 
sma'  things/' 

"I'll  no'  trouble  him.  It's  the  Lord  Provost 
I'm  wanting,  on  ofeecial  beesiness."  He  re- 
quested Sandy  to  ask  Glenormiston,  if  he  came 
in,  to  come  over  to  the  Burgh  court  and  spier  for 
Mr.  Traill. 

"It's  no'  his  day  to  sit  as  magistrate,  and  he's 
no'  like  to  go  unless  it's  a  fair  sairious  matter." 

"Ay,  it  is,  laddie.  It's  a  matter  of  life  and 
death,  I'm  thinking  1"  He  smiled  grimly,  as  it 
entered  his  head  that  he  might  be  driven  to 
do  violence  to  that  meddling  policeman.  The 
yellow  gas-light  gave  his  face  such  a  sardonic 
aspect  that  Sandy  turned  pale. 

"Wha's  death,  man?" 

Mr.  Traill  kept  his  own  counsel,  but  at  the 
door  he  turned:  "You'll  no'  be  remembering  the 
bittie  terrier  that  lived  in  the  kirkyard?" 

The  light  of  boyhood  days  broke  in  Sandy's 
grin.  "  Ay,  I'll  no'  be  forgetting  the  sonsie  tyke. 
He  was  a  deil  of  a  dog  to  tak'  on  a  holiday.  Is 
he  still  faithfu'  to  his  dead  master?" 

z68 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

"He  is  that;  and  for  his  faithfu'ness  he's  like 
to  be  dead  himsel'.  The  police  are  takin'  up 
masterless  dogs  an*  putting  them  out  o'  the  way. 
I'll  mak'  a  gude  fight  for  Bobby  in  the  Burgh 
court." 

"I'll  fight  with  you,  man."  The  spirit  of  the 
McGregor  clan,  though  much  diluted  and  sub- 
dued by  town  living,  brought  Sandy  down  from  a 
three-legged  stool.  He  called  another  clerk  to 
take  his  place,  and  made  off  to  find  the  Lord 
Provost,  powerful  friend  of  nameless  dogs.  Mr. 
Traill  hastened  down  to  the  Royal  Exchange, 
below  St.  Giles  and  on  the  northern  side  of  High 
Street. 

Less  than  a  century  old,  this  municipal  build- 
ing was  modern  among  ancient  rookeries.  To 
High  Street  it  presented  a  classic  front  of  four 
stories,  recessed  by  flanking  wings,  around  three 
sides  of  a  quadrangular  courtyard.  Near  the 
entrance  there  was  a  row  of  barber  shops  and 
coffee-rooms.  Any  one  having  business  with  the 
city  offices  went  through  a  corridor  between 
these  places  of  small  trade  to  the  stairway  court 
behind  them.  On  the  floor  above,  one  had  to 
inquire  of  some  uniformed  attendant  in  which 
of  the  oaken,  ante-roomed  halls  the  Burgh  court 
was  sitting.  And  by  the  time  one  got  there  all 
the  pride  of  civic  history  of  the  ancient  royal 

160 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

Burgh,  as  set  forth  in  portrait  and  statue  and  a 
museum  of  antiquities,  was  apt  to  take  the  lime 
out  of  the  backbone  of  a  man  less  courageous  than 
Mr.  Traill.  What  a  car  of  Juggernaut  to  roll  over 
one,  small,  masterless  terrier! 

But  presently  the  landlord  found  himself  on 
his  feet,  and  not  so  ill  at  ease.  A  Scottish  court, 
high  or  low,  civil  or  criminal,  had  a  flavor  all  its 
own.  Law  points  were  threshed  over  with  gusto, 
but  counsel,  client,  and  witness  gained  many  a 
point  by  ready  wit,  and  there  was  no  lack  of 
dry  humor  from  the  bench.  About  the  Burgh 
court,  for  all  its  stately  setting,  there  was  little 
formality.  The  magistrate  of  the  day  sat  behind 
a  tall  desk,  with  a  clerk  of  record  at  his  elbow, 
and  the  officer  gave  his  testimony  briefly:  Edin- 
burgh being  quite  overrun  by  stray  and  un- 
licensed dogs,  orders  had  recently  been  given  the 
Burgh  police  to  report  such  animals.  In  Mr. 
Traill's  place  he  had  seen  a  small  terrier  that 
appeared  to  be  at  home  there ;  and,  indeed,  on  the 
dog's  going  out,  Mr.  Traill  had  called  a  servant 
lassie  to  fetch  a  bone,  and  to  open  the  door  for 
him.  He  noticed  that  the  animal  wore  no 
collar,  and  felt  it  his  duty  to  report  the  matter. 

By  the  time  Mr.  Traill  was  called  to  answer  to 
the  charge  a  number  of  curious  idlers  had  gath- 
ered on  the  back  benches.  He  admitted  his 

170 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

name  and  address,  but  denied  that  he  either 
owned  or  was  harboring  a  dog.  The  magistrate 
fixed  a  cold  eye  upon  him,  and  asked  if  he  meant 
to  contradict  the  testimony  of  the  officer. 

"Nae,  your  Honor;  and  he  might  have  seen 
the  same  thing  ony  week-day  of  the  past  eight  and 
a  half  years.  But  the  bit  terrier  is  no'  my  ain 
dog."  Suddenly,  the  memory  of  the  stormy 
night,  the  sick  old  man  and  the  pathos  of  his  re- 
nunciation of  the  only  beating  heart  in  the  world 
that  loved  him — "Bobby  isna  ma  ain  dog!" — 
swept  over  the  remorseful  landlord.  He  was 
rilled  with  a  fierce  championship  of  the  wee 
Highlander,  whose  loyalty  to  that  dead  master 
had  brought  him  to  this  strait. 

To  the  magistrate  Mr.  Train's  tossed-up  head 
had  the  effect  of  defiance,  and  brought  a  sharp 
rebuke.  "Don't  split  hairs,  Mr.  Traill.  You 
are  wasting  the  time  of  the  court.  You  admit 
feeding  the  dog.  Who  is  his  master  and  where 
does  he  sleep?" 

"His  master  is  in  his  grave  in  auld  Greyfriars 
kirkyard,  and  the  dog  has  aye  slept  there  on  the 
mound." 

The  magistrate  leaned  over  his  desk.  "Man, 
no  dog  could  sleep  in  the  open  for  one  winter  in 
this  climate.  Are  you  fond  of  romancing,  Mr. 
Traill?" 

Ill 


GREYFRIARS   BOBBY 

"No*  so  overfond,  your  Honor.  The  dog  is  ot 
the  subarctic  breed  of  Skye  terriers,  the  kind 
with  a  thick  under-jacket  of  fleece,  and  a  weather 
thatch  that  turns  rain  like  a  crofter's  cottage 
roof." 

"There  should  be  witnesses  to  such  an  ex- 
traordinary story.  The  dog  could  not  have 
lived  in  this  strictly  guarded  churchyard  without 
the  consent  of  those  in  authority."  The  magis- 
trate was  plainly  annoyed  and  skeptical,  and 
Mr.  Traill  felt  the  sting  of  it. 

"Ay,  the  caretaker  has  been  his  gude  friend, 
but  Mr.  Brown  is  ill  of  rheumatism,  and  can  no* 
come  out.  Nae  doubt,  if  necessary,  his  deposee- 
tion  could  be  tak'n.  Permission  for  the  bit  dog 
to  live  in  the  kirkyard  was  given  by  the  meenister 
of  Greyfriars  auld  kirk,  but  Doctor  Lee  is  in 
failing  health  and  has  gone  to  the  south  of 
France.  The  tenement  children  and  the  Heriot 
laddies  have  aye  made  a  pet  of  Bobby,  but  they 
would  no'  be  competent  witnesses." 

"You  should  have  counsel.  There  are  some 
legal  difficulties  here." 

"I'm  no'  needing  a  lawyer.  The  law  in  sic  a 
matter  can  no'  be  so  complicated,  and  I  have  a 
tongue  in  my  ain  head  that  has  aye  served  me, 
your  Honor."  The  magistrate  smiled,  and  the 
spectators  moved  to  the  nearer  benches  to  enjoy 

172 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

this  racy  man.  The  room  began  to  fill  by  that 
kind  of  telepathy  that  causes  crowds  to  gather 
around  the  human  drama.  One  man  stood,  un- 
noticed, in  the  doorway.  Mr.  Traill  went  on, 
quietly:  "If  the  court  permits  me  to  do  so,  I 
shall  be  glad  to  pay  for  Bobby's  license,  but  I'm 
thinking  that  carries  responsibeelity  for  the  bit 
dog/1 

"You  are  quite  right,  Mr.  Traill.  You  would 
have  to  assume  responsibility.  Masterless  dogs 
have  become  a  serious  nuisance  in  the  city.1' 

"I  could  no*  tak'  responsibeelity.  The  dog  is 
no'  with  me  more  than  a  couple  of  hours  out  of 
the  twenty-four.  I  understand  that  most  of  his 
time  is  spent  in  the  kirkyard,  in  weel-behaving, 
usefu'  ways,  but  I  could  no'  be  sure." 

* '  But  why  have  you  fed  him  for  so  many  years  ? 
Was  his  master  a  friend  ?" 

"Nae,  just  a  customer,  your  Honor;  a  simple 
auld  shepherd  who  ate  his  market-day  dinner 
in  my  place.  He  aye  had  the  bit  dog  with 
him,  and  I  was  the  last  man  to  see  the  auld 
body  before  he  went  awa*  to  his  meeserable 
death  in  a  Cowgate  wynd.  Bobby  came  to  me, 
near  starved,  to  be  fed,  two  days  after  his 
master's  burial.  I  was  tak'n  by  the  wee  High- 
lander's leal  spirit." 

A»d  that  was  all  the  landlord  would  say.  He 
173 


GREYFRIARS   BOBBY 

had  no  mind  to  wear  his  heart  upon  his  sleeve 
for  this  idle  crowd  to  gape  at. 

After  a  moment  the  magistrate  spoke  warmly: 
"It  appears,  then,  that  the  payment  of  the 
license  could  not  be  accepted  from  you.  Your 
humanity  is  commendable,  Mr.  Traill,  but 
technically  you  are  in  fault.  The  minimum  fine 
should  be  imposed  and  remitted." 

At  this  utterly  unlooked-for  conclusion  Mr. 
Traill  seemed  to  gather  his  lean  shoulders  to- 
gether for  a  spring,  and  his  gray  eyes  narrowed  to 
blades. 

41  With  due  respect  to  your  Honor,  I  must  tak' 
an  appeal  against  sic  a  deceesion,  to  the  Lord 
Provost  and  a'  the  magistrates,  and  then  to  the 
Court  of  Sessions." 

"You  would  get  scant  attention,  Mr.  Traill. 
The  higher  judiciary  have  more  important  busi- 
ness than  reviewing  dog  cases.  You  would  be 
laughed  out  of  court." 

The  dry  tone  stung  him  to  instant  retort. 
"And  in  gude  company  I'd  be.  Fifty  years  syne 
Lord  Erskine  was  laughed  down  in  Parliament  for 
proposing  to  give  legal  protection  to  dumb  ani- 
mals. But  we're  getting  a  bit  more  ceevilized." 

"Tut,  tut,  Mr.  Traill,  you  are  making  far  too 
much  of  a  small  matter." 

"It's  no*  a  sma'  matter  to  be  entered  in  the 
174 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

records  of  the  Burgh  court  as  a  petty  law-braker. 
And  if  I  continued  to  feed  the  dog  I  would  be  in 
contempt  of  court." 

The  magistrate  was  beginning  to  feel  badgered. 
"The  fine  carries  the  interdiction  with  it,  Mr. 
Traill,  if  you  are  asking  for  information." 

"It  was  no*  for  information,  but  just  to  mak* 
plain  my  ain  line  of  conduct.  I'm  no1  intending 
to  abandon  the  dog.  I  am  commended  here  for 
my  humanity,  but  the  bit  dog  I  must  let  starve 
for  a  technicality." 

Instantly,  as  the  magistrate  half  rose  from  the 
bench,  the  landlord  saw  that  he  had  gone  too  far, 
and  put  the  court  on  the  defensive.  In  an  easy, 
conversational  tone,  as  if  unaware  of  the  point 
he  had  scored,  he  asked  if  he  might  address  his 
accuser  on  a  personal  matter.  "We  knew  each 
other  weel  as  laddies.  Da  vie,  when  you're  in  my 
neeborhood  again  on  a  wet  day,  come  in  and  dry 
yoursel'  by  my  fire  and  tak'  another  cup  o'  kind- 
ness for  auld  lang  syne.  You'll  be  all  the  better 
man  for  a  lesson  in  morals  the  bit  dog  can  give 
you:  no'  to  bite  the  hand  that  feeds  you." 

The  policeman  turned  purple.  A  ripple  of 
merriment  ran  through  the  room.  The  magis- 
trate put  his  hand  up  to  his  mouth,  and  the  clerk 
began  to  drop  pens.  Before  silence  was  restored 
a  messenger  laddie  ran  up  with  a  note  for  the 

175 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

bench.  The  magistrate  read  it  with  a  look  of 
relief,  and  nodded  to  the  man  who  had  been 
listening  from  the  doorway,  but  who  disappeared 
at  once. 

"The  case  is  ordered  continued.  The  de- 
fendant will  be  given  time  to  secure  witnesses, 
and  notified  when  to  appear.  The  next  case  is 
called." 

Somewhat  dazed  by  this  sudden  turn,  and  an- 
noyed by  the  delayed  settlement  of  the  affair. 
Mr.  Traill  hastened  from  the  court-room.  As  he 
gained  the  street  he  was  overtaken  by  the  mes- 
senger with  a  second  note.  And  there  was  a  still 
more  surprising  turn  that  sent  the  landlord  off 
up  swarming  High  Street,  across  the  bridge,  and 
on  to  his  snug  little  place  of  business,  with  the 
face  and  the  heart  of  a  school-boy.  When 
Bobby,  draggled  by  three  days  of  wet  weather, 
came  in  for  his  dinner,  Mr.  Traill  scanned  him 
critically  and  in  some  perplexity.  At  the  end  of 
the  day's  work,  as  Ailie  was  dropping  her  quaint 
curtsy  and  giving  her  adored  employer  a  shy 
"gude  nicht,"  he  had  a  sudden  thought  that 
made  him  call  her  back. 

"Did  you  ever  give  a  bit  dog  a  washing, 
lassie?"  ' 

"Ye  mean  Bobby,  Maister  Traill?  Nae,  I 
didna."  Her  eyes  sparkled.  "But  Tammy's 

176 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

hauded  'im  for  Maister  Brown,  an*  he  says  it's 
sonsie  to  gie  the  bonny  wee  a  washin'." 

"  Weel,  Mr.  Brown  is  fair  ill,  and  there  has  been 
foul  weather.  Bobby's  getting  to  look  like  a 
poor  'gaen-aboot'  dog.  Have  him  at  the  kirk- 
yard  gate  at  a  quarter  to  eight  o'clock  the  morn 
looking  like  a  leddy's  pet  and  I'll  dance  a  High- 
land fling  at  your  wedding." 

"Are  ye  gangin'  to  tak'  Bobby  on  a  picnic, 
Maister  Traill?" 

He  answered  with  a  mock  solemnity  and  a 
twinkle  in  his  eyes  that  mystified  the  little  maid. 
"Nae,  lassie;  I'm  going  to  tak'  him  to  a  meeting 
in  a  braw  kirk." 


WHEN  Ailie  wanted  to  get  up  unusually 
early  in  the  morning  she  made  use  of 
Tammy  for  an  alarm-clock.  A  crippled  laddie 
who  must  "mak'  'is  leevin*  wi'  'is  heid"  can 
waste  no  moment  of  daylight,  and  in  the  ancient 
buildings  around  Greyfriars  the  maximum  of 
daylight  was  to  be  had  only  by  those  able  and 
willing  to  climb  to  the  gables.  Tammy,  having 
to  live  on  the  lowest,  darkest  floor  of  all,  used 
the  kirkyard  for  a  study,  by  special  indulgence  of 
the  caretaker,  whenever  the  weather  permitted. 
From  a  window  he  dropped  his  books  and  his 
crutches  over  the  wall.  Then,  by  clasping  his 
arms  around  a  broken  shaft  that  blocked  the 
casement,  he  swung  himself  out,  and  scrambled 
down  into  an  enclosed  vault-yard.  There  he  kept 
hidden  Mistress  Jeanie's  milking-stool  for  a  seat; 
and  a  table-tomb  served  as  well,  for  the  laddie  to 
do  his  sums  upon,  as  it  had  for  the  tearful  signing 
of  the  Covenant  more  than  two  hundred  years 
before.  Bobby,  as  host,  greeted  Tammy  with 
cordial  friskings  and  waggings,  saw  him  settled  to 


GREYFRIARS   BOBBY 

his  tasks,  and  then  went  briskly  about  his  own 
interrupted  business  of  searching  out  marauders. 
Many  a  spring  dawn  the  quiet  little  boy  and  the 
swift  and  silent  little  dog  had  the  shadowy  gar- 
den all  to  themselves,  and  it  was  for  them  the 
song  -  thrushes  and  skylarks  gave  their  choicest 
concerts. 

On  that  mid- April  morning,  when  the  rising  sun 
gilded  the  Castle  turrets  and  flashed  back  from 
the  many  beautiful  windows  of  Heriot's  Hospital, 
Tammy  bundled  his  books  under  the  table-tomb 
of  Mistress  Jean  Grant,  went  over  to  the  rear  of 
the  Guildhall  at  the  top  of  the  Row,  and  threw 
a  handful  of  gravel  up  to  Ailie's  window.  Be- 
cause of  a  grandmither  Ailie,  too,  dwelt  on  a  low 
level.  Her  eager  little  face,  lighted  by  sleep- 
dazzled  blue  eyes,  popped  out  with  the  surprising 
suddenness  of  the  manikins  in  a  Punch-and-Judy 
show. 

"In  juist  ane  meenit,  Tammy,"  she  whispered, 
"no*  to  wauken  the  grandmither."  It  was 
in  so  very  short  a  minute  that  the  lassie  climbed 
out  onto  the  classic  pediment  of  a  tomb  and 
dropped  into  the  kirkyard  that  her  toilet  was 
uncompleted.  Tammy  buttoned  her  washed- 
out  cotton  gown  at  the  back,  and  she  sat  on  a 
slab  to  lace  her  shoes.  If  the  fun  of  giving 
Bobby  his  bath  was  to  be  enjoyed  to  the  full 

179 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

there  must  be  no  unnecessary  delay.  This  coo* 
sideration  led  Tammy  to  observe: 

"Ye're  no*  needin'  to  comb  yer  hair,  Ailie- 
It  leuks  bonny  eneugh." 

In  truth,  Ailie  was  one  of  those  fortunate 
lassies  whose  crinkly,  gold-brown  mop  really 
looked  best  when  in  some  disorder;  and  of  that 
advantage  the  little  maid  was  well  aware. 

"I  ken  a*  that,  Tammy.  I  aye  gie  it  a  lick 
or  twa  wi'  a  comb  the  nicht  afore.  Ca'  the  wee 
doggie." 

Bobby  fully  understood  that  he  was  wanted 
for  some  serious  purpose,  but  it  was  a  fresh  morn- 
ing of  dew  and  he,  apparently,  was  in  the  highest 
of  spirits.  So  he  gave  Ailie  a  chase  over  the 
sparkling  grass  and  under  the  showery  shrub- 
bery. When  he  dropped  at  last  on  Auld  Jock's 
grave  Tammy  captured  him.  The  little  dog 
could  always  be  caught  there,  in  a  caressable 
state  of  exhaustion  or  meditation,  for,  sooner  or 
later,  he  returned  to  the  spot  from  every  bit  of 
work  or  play.  No  one  would  have  known  it  for 
a  place  of  burial  at  all.  Mr.  Brown  knew  it  only 
by  the  rose  bush  at  its  head  and  by  Bobby's 
haunting  it,  for  the  mound  had  sunk  to  the 
general  level  of  the  terrace  on  which  it  lay,  and 
spreading  crocuses  poked  their  purple  and  gold 
noses  through  the  crisp  spring  turf.  But  for  the 

1 80 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

wee,  guardian  dog  the  man  who  lay  beneath 
had  long  lost  what  little  identity  he  had  ever 
possessed. 

Now,  as  the  three  lay  there,  the  lassie  as 
flushed  and  damp  as  some  water-nymph,  Bobby 
panting  and  submitting  to  a  petting,  Tammy 
took  the  little  dog's  muzzle  between  his  thin 
hands,  parted  the  veil,  and  looked  into  the  soft 
brown  eyes. 

"Leuk,  Ailie,  Bobby's  wantin'  somethin',  an* 
is  juist  haudin'  'imsel'." 

It  was  true.  For  all  his  gaiety  in  play  and  his 
energy  at  work  Bobby's  eyes  had  ever  a  patient, 
wistful  look,  not  unlike  the  crippled  laddie's. 
Ah,  who  can  say  that  it  did  not  require  as  much 
courage  and  gallant  bravado  on  the  part  of  that 
small,  bereft  creature  to  enable  him  to  live  at  all, 
as  it  did  for  Tammy  to  face  his  handicapped  life 
and  "no'  to  remember  'is  bad  legs"? 

In  the  bath  on  the  rear  steps  of  the  lodge 
Bobby  swam  and  splashed,  and  scattered  foam 
with  his  excited  tail.  He  would  not  stand  still 
to  be  groomed,  but  wriggled  and  twisted  and 
leaped  upon  the  children,  putting  his  shaggy 
wet  paws  roguishly  in  their  faces.  But  he  stood 
there  at  last,  after  the  jolliest  romp,  in  which  the 
old  kirkyard  rang  with  laughter,  and  oh!  so 
bonny,  in  his  rippling  coat  of  dark  silver.  No 

13  l81 


GREVFRIARS    BOBBY 

sooner  was  he  released  than  he  dashed  around 
the  kirk  and  back  again,  bringing  his  latest  bone 
in  his  mouth.  To  his  scratching  on  the  stone 
sill,  for  he  had  been  taught  not  to  scratch  on  the 
panel,  the  door  was  opened  by  snod  and  smiling 
Mistress  Jeanie,  who  invited  these  slum  bairns 
into  such  a  cozy,  spotless  kitchen  as  was  not 
possible  in  the  tenements.  Mr.  Brown  sat  by 
the  hearth,  bundled  in  blue  and  white  blankets 
of  wonderfully  blocked  country  weaving.  Bobby 
put  his  fore  paws  on  the  caretaker's  chair  and 
laid  his  precious  bone  in  the  man's  lap. 

"Eh,  ye  takin'  bit  rascal;  loup!"  Bobby 
jumped  to  the  patted  knee,  turned  around  and 
around  on  the  soft  bed  that  invited  him,  licked 
the  beaming  old  face  to  show  his  sympathy 
and  friendliness,  and  jumped  down  again.  Mr. 
Brown  sighed  because  Bobby  steadily  but  ami- 
ably refused  to  be  anybody's  lap-dog.  The  care- 
taker turned  to  the  admiring  children. 

"Ilka  morn  he  fetches  'is  bit  bane  up,  thinkin' 
it  a  braw  giftie  for  an  ill  man.  An'  syne  he 
veesits  me  twa  times  i'  the  day,  juist  bidin*  a 
wee  on  the  hearthstane,  lollin'  'is  tongue  an' 
waggin'  'is  tail,  cheerfu'-like.  Bobby  has  mair 
gude  sense  in  'is  heid  than  mony  a  man  wha 
comes  ben  the  hoose,  wi'  a  lang  face,  to  let  me 
ken  I'm  gangin'  to  dee.  Gin  I  keep  snug  an' 

182 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

canny  it  wullna  gang  to  the  heart.  Jeanie, 
woman,  fetch  ma  fife,  wull  ye?" 

Then  there  were  strange  doings  in  the  kirkyard 
lodge.  James  Brown  "wasna  gangin'  to  dee" 
before  his  time  came,  at  any  rate.  In  his  youth, 
as  under-gardener  on  a  Highland  estate,  he  had 
learned  to  play  the  piccola  flute,  and  lately  he 
had  revived  the  pastoral  art  of  piping  just  be- 
cause it  went  so  well  with  Bobby's  delighted  legs. 
To  the  sonsie  air  of  "Bonnie  Dundee"  Bobby 
hopped  and  stepped  and  louped,  and  he  turned 
about  on  his  hind  feet,  his  shagged  fore  paws 
drooped  on  his  breast  as  daintily  as  the  hands  in 
the  portraits  of  early  Victorian  ladies.  The  fire 
burned  cheerily  in  the  polished  grate,  and  winked 
on  every  shining  thing  in  the  room;  primroses 
bloomed  in  the  diamond-paned  casement;  the 
skylark  fluttered  up  and  sang  in  its  cage;  the 
fife  whistled  as  gaily  as  a  blackbird,  and  the 
little  dog  danced  with  a  comic  clumsiness  that 
made  them  all  double  up  with  laughter.  The 
place  was  so  full  of  brightness,  and  of  kind  and 
merry  hearts,  that  there  was  room  for  nothing 
else.  Not  one  of  them  dreamed  that  the  shadow 
of  the  law  was  even  then  over  this  useful  and 
lovable  little  dog's  head. 

A  glance  at  the  wag-at-the-wa'  clock  reminded 
Ailie  that  Mr.  Traill  might  be  waiting  for  Bobby. 

183 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

Curious  about  the  mystery,  the  children  took 
the  little  dog  down  to  the  gate,  happily.  They 
were  sobered,  however,  when  Mr.  Traill  appeared, 
looking  very  grand  in  his  Sabbath  clothes.  He 
inspected  Bobby  all  over  with  anxious  scrutiny, 
and  gave  each  of  the  bairns  a  threepenny-bit,  but 
he  had  no  blithe  greeting  for  them.  Much  pre- 
occupied, he  went  off  at  once,  with  the  animated 
little  muff  of  a  dog  at  his  heels.  In  truth,  Mr. 
Traill  was  thinking  about  how  he  might  best 
plead  Bobby's  cause  with  the  Lord  Provost, 
The  note  that  was  handed  him,  on  leaving  the 
Burgh  court  the  day  before,  had  read: 

"Meet  me  at  the  Regent's  Tomb  in  St.  Giles 
at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  bring  the 
wee  Highlander  with  you. — GLENORMISTON." 

On  the  first  reading  the  landlord's  spirits  had 
risen,  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  cause,  owing 
to  his  previous  depression.  But,  after  all,  the 
appointment  had  no  official  character,  since  the 
Regent's  Tomb  in  St.  Giles  had  long  been  a  sort 
of  town  pump  for  the  retailing  of  gossip  and 
for  the  transaction  of  trifling  affairs  of  all  sorts. 
The  fate  of  this  little  dog  was  a  small  matter, 
indeed,  and  so  it  might  be  thought  fitting,  by 
the  powers  that  be,  that  it  should  be  decided 
at  the  Regent's  Tomb  rather  than  in  the  Burgh 
court. 

184 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

To  the  children,  who  watched  from  the  kirk- 
yard  gate  until  Mr.  Traill  and  Bobby  were  hidden 
by  the  buildings  on  the  bridge,  it  was  no'  canny. 
The  busy  landlord  lived  mostly  in  shirt-sleeves 
and  big  white  apron,  ready  to  lend  a  hand  in  the 
rush  hours,  and  he  never  was  known  to  put  on 
his  black  coat  and  tall  hat  on  a  week-day,  except 
to  attend  a  funeral.  However,  there  was  the 
day's  work  to  be  done.  Tammy  had  a  lesson 
still  to  get,  and  returned  to  the  kirkyard,  and 
Ailie  ran  up  to  the  dining-rooms.  On  the  step 
she  collided  with  a  red-headed,  freckle-faced 
young  man  who  asked  for  Mr.  Traill. 

"He  isna  here."  The  shy  lassie  was  made 
almost  speechless  by  recognizing,  in  this  neat, 
well-spoken  clerk,  an  old  Heriot  boy,  once  as  poor 
as  herself. 

"Do  you  wark  for  him,  lassie?  Weel,  do  you 
know  how  he  cam*  out  in  the  Burgh  court  about 
the  bit  dog?" 

There  was  only  one  "bit  dog"  in  the  world  to 
Ailie.  Wild-eyed  with  alarm  at  mention  of  the 
Burgh  court,  in  connection  with  that  beloved 
little  pet,  she  stammered:  "It's — it's — no'  a 
coort  he  gaed  to.  Maister  Train's  tak'n  Bobby 
awa'  to  a  braw  kirk." 

Sandy  nodded  his  head.  "Ay,  that  would  be 
the  police  office  in  St.  Giles.  Lassie,  tell  Mr. 

185 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

Traill  I  sent  the  Lord  Provost,  and  if  he's  needing 
a  witness  to  ca'  on  Sandy  McGregor." 

Ailie  stared  after  him  with  frightened  eyes. 
Into  her  mind  flashed  that  ominous  remark  of 
the  policeman  two  days  before:  "I  didna  ken 
ye  had  a  dog,  John?"  She  overtook  Sandy  in 
front  of  the  sheriff's  court  on  the  bridge. 

"What — what  hae  the  police  to  do  wi'  bittie 
dogs?" 

"If  a  dog  has  nae  master  to  pay  for  his  license 
the  police  can  tak'  him  up  and  put  him  out  o'  the 
way." 

"Hoo  muckle  siller  are  they  wantin'  ?" 

"Seven  shullings.  Gude  day,  lassie;  I'm  fair 
late."  Sandy  was  not  really  alarmed  about 
Bobby  since  the  resourceful  Mr.  Traill  had  taken 
up  his  cause,  and  he  had  no  idea  of  the  panic 
of  grief  and  fright  that  overwhelmed  this  forlorn 
child. 

Seven  shullings !  It  was  an  enormous  sum  to 
the  tenement  bairn,  whose  half -blind  grand- 
mither  knitted  and  knitted  in  a  dimly  lighted 
room,  and  hoarded  halfpennies  and  farthings  to 
save  herself  from  pauper  burial.  Seven  shullings 
would  pay  a  month's  rent  for  any  one  of  the 
crowded  rooms  in  which  a  family  lived.  Ailie 
herself,  an  untrained  lassie  who  scarcely  knew 
the  use  of  a  toasting-fork,  was  overpaid  by 

1 86 


GREYFRIARS   BOBBY 

generous  Mr.  Traill  at  sixpence  a  day.  Seven 
shullings  to  permit  one  little  dog  to  live !  It  did 
not  occur  to  Ailie  that  this  was  a  sum  Mr.  Trail] 
could  easily  pay.  No*  onybody  at  all  had  seven 
shullings  all  at  once!  But,  oh!  everybody  had 
pennies  and  halfpennies  and  farthings,  and  she 
and  Tammy  together  had  a  sixpence. 

Darting  back  to  the  gate,  to  catch  the  laddie 
before  he  could  be  off  to  school,  she  ran  straight 
into  the  policeman,  who  stood  with  his  hand  on 
the  wicket.  He  eyed  her  sharply. 

"Eh,  lassie,  I  was  gangin'  to  spier  at  the  lodge, 
gin  there's  a  bit  dog  leevin'  i'  the  kirkyaird." 

"I — I — dinna  ken."  Her  voice  was  unman- 
ageable. She  had  left  to  her  only  the  tenement- 
bred  instinct  of  concealment  of  any  and  all  facts 
from  an  officer  of  the  law. 

"Ye  dinna  ken!  Maister  Traill  said  i'  the 
coort  a*  the  bairns  aboot  kenned  the  dog.  Was 
he  leein'  ?" 

The  question  stung  her  into  angry  admission. 
"He  wadna  be  leein'.  But — but — the  bittie — 
— dog — isna  here  noo." 

"Syne,  whaur  is  he?    Got  wf  it!" 

"I — dinna — ken!"  She  cowered  in  abject 
fear  against  the  wall.  She  could  not  know  that 
this  officer  was  suffering  a  bad  attack  of  shame 
for  his  shabby  part  in  the  affair.  Satisfied  that 

187 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

the  little  dog  really  did  live  in  the  kirkyard,  he 
turned  back  to  the  bridge.  When  Tammy  came 
out  presently  he  found  Ailie  crumpled  up  in  a  limp 
little  heap  in  the  gateway  alcove.  In  a  moment 
the  tale  of  Bobby's  peril  was  told.  The  laddie 
dropped  his  books  and  his  crutches  on  the  pave- 
ment, and  his  head  in  his  helpless  arms,  and 
cried.  He  had  small  faith  in  Ailie's  suddenly 
conceived  plan  to  collect  the  seven  shullings 
among  the  dwellers  in  the  tenements. 

11  Do  ye  ken  hoo  muckle  siller  seven  shullin's 
wad  be?  It's  auchty-fower  pennies,  a  hundred 
an*  saxty-aucht  ha'pennies  an* — an* — I  canna 
think  hoo  mony  farthings." 

"I  dinna  care  a  bittie  bit.  There's  mair  folk 
aroond  the  kirkyaird  than  there's  farthings  i* 
twa,  three  times  seven  shullin's.  An'  maist  ilka 
body  kens  Bobby.  An*  we  hae  a  saxpence 
at  ween  us  noo." 

"Maister  Brown  wad  gie  us  anither  saxpence 
gin  he  had  ane,"  Tammy  suggested,  wistfully. 

"Nae,  he's  fair  ill.  Gin  he  doesna  keep  canny 
it  wull  gang  to  'is  heart.  He'd  be  aff  'is  heid 
aboot  Bobby.  Oh,  Tammy,  Maister  Traill  gaed 
to  gie  'im  up !  He  was  wearin*  a*  'is  gude  claes 
an*  a  lang  face,  to  gang  to  Bobby's  buryin'." 

This  dreadful  thought  spurred  them  to  instant 
action.  By  way  of  mutual  encouragement  they 

It! 


GREYFRIARS   BOBBY 

went  together  through  the  sculptured  doorway, 
that  bore  the  arms  of  the  ancient  guild  of  the 
candlemakers  on  the  lintel,  and  into  the  carting 
office  on  the  front 

"  Do  ye  ken  Greyf  riars  Bobby  ?"  Tammy  asked, 
timidly,  of  the  man  in  charge. 

He  glowered  at  the  laddie  and  shook  his  head. 
"Havers,  mannie;  there's  no*  onybody  named 
for  an  auld  buryin*  groond." 

The  children  fled.  There  was  no  use  at  all  in 
wasting  time  on  folk  who  did  not  know  Bobby, 
for  it  would  take  too  long  to  explain  him.  But, 
alas,  they  soon  discovered  that  "maist  ilka  body" 
did  not  know  the  little  dog,  as  they  had  so  con* 
fidently  supposed.  He  was  sure  to  be  known 
only  in  the  rooms  at  the  rear  that  overlooked  the 
kirkyard,  and,  as  one  went  upward,  his  identity 
became  less  and  less  distinct.  He  was  such  a 
wee,  wee,  canny  terrier,  and  so  many  of  the 
windows  had  their  views  constantly  shut  out  by 
washings.  Around  the  inner  courts,  where  un- 
kempt women  brought  every  sort  of  work  out  to 
the  light  on  the  galleries  and  mended  worthless 
rags,  gossiped,  and  nursed  their  babies  on  the 
stairs,  Bobby  had  sometimes  been  heard  of,  but 
almost  never  seen.  Children  often  knew  him 
where  their  elders  did  not.  By  the  time  Ailie 
and  Tammy  had  worked  swiftly  down  to  the 

189 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

bottom  of  the  Row  other  children  began  to  fol- 
low them,  moved  by  the  peril  of  the  little  dog 
to  sympathy  and  eager  sacrifice. 

"  Bide  a  wee,  Ailie !"  cried  one,  running  to  over- 
take  the  lassie.  * '  Here's  a  penny.  I  was  gangin* 
for  milk  for  the  porridge.  We  can  do  wi'oot  the 
day." 

And  there  was  the  money  for  the  broth  bone, 
and  the  farthing  that  would  have  filled  the 
gude-man's  evening  pipe,  and  the  ha'penny  for 
the  grandmither's  tea.  It  was  the  world-over 
story  of  the  poor  helping  the  poor.  The  progress 
of  Ailie  and  Tammy  through  the  tenements  was 
like  that  of  the  piper  through  Hamelin.  The 
children  gathered  and  gathered,  and  followed  at 
their  heels,  until  a  curiously  quiet  mob  of  three- 
score or  more  crouched  in  the  court  of  the  old  hall 
of  the  Knights  of  St.  John,  in  the  Grassmarket,  to 
count  the  many  copper  coins  in  Tammy's  woolen 
bonnet. 

"Five  shullin's,  ninepence,  an'  a  ha'penny," 
Tammy  announced.  And  then,  after  calculation 
on  his  fingers,  "It'll  tak'  a  shullin'  an'  twa- 
penny  ha'penny  mair." 

There  was  a  gasping  breath  of  bitter  disap- 
pointment, and  one  wee  laddie  wailed  for  lost 
Bobby.  At  that  Ailie  dashed  the  tears  from  her 
own  eyes  and  sprang  up,  spurred  to  desperate 

190 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

effort.  She  would  storm  the  all  but  hopeless  attic 
chambers.  Up  the  twisting  turnpike  stairs  on 
the  outer  wall  she  ran,  to  where  the  swallows 
wheeled  about  the  cornices,  and  she  could  hear 
the  iron  cross  of  the  Knights  Templars  creak 
above  the  gable.  Then,  all  the  way  along  a  dark 
passage,  at  one  door  after  another,  she  knocked, 
and  cried: 

"Do  ye  ken  Greyfriars  Bobby?" 

At  some  of  the  doors  there  was  no  answer. 
At  others  students  stared  out  at  the  bairn,  not 
in  the  least  comprehending  this  wild  crying. 
Tears  of  anger  and  despair  flooded  the  little 
maid's  blue  eyes  when  she  beat  on  the  last  door 
of  the  row  with  her  doubled  fist. 

"Do  ye  ken  Greyfriars  Bobby?  The  police 
are  gangin'  to  mak'  'im  be  deid — "  As  the 
door  was  flung  open  she  broke  into  stormy 
weeping. 

"Hey,  lassie.  I  know  the  dog.  What  fashes 
you?" 

There  stood  a  tall  student,  a  wet  towel  about 
his  head,  and,  behind  him,  the  rafters  of  the 
dormer-lighted  closet  were  as  thickly  hung  with 
bunches  of  dried  herbs  from  the  Botanical  Gar- 
den as  any  auld  witch-wife's  kitchen. 

"'Oh,  are  ye  kennin'  'im?  Isna  he  bonny  an' 
sonsie?  Gie  me  the  shullin'  an'  twapenny  ha'- 

191 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

penny  we're  needin',  so  the  police  wullna  put 


'im  awa'." 


' '  Losh !  It's  a  license  you're  wanting  ?  I  wish 
I  had  as  many  shullings  as  I've  had  gude  times 
with  Bobby,  and  naething  to  pay  for  his  braw 
company." 

For  this  was  Geordie  Ross,  going  through  the 
Medical  College  with  the  help  of  Heriot's  fund 
that,  large  as  it  was,  was  never  quite  enough  for 
all  the  poor  and  ambitious  youths  of  Edinburgh. 
And  so,  although  provided  for  in  all  necessary 
ways,  his  pockets  were  nearly  as  empty  as  of  old. 
He  could  spare  a  sixpence  if  he  made  his  dinner 
on  a  potato  and  a  smoked  herring.  That  he  was 
very  willing  to  do,  once  he  had  heard  the  tale, 
and  he  went  with  Ailie  to  the  lodgings  of  other 
students,  and  demanded  their  siller  with  no  ex- 
planation at  all. 

"Give  the  lassie  what  you  can  spare,  man,  or 
I'll  have  to  give  you  a  licking,"  was  his  gay  and 
convincing  argument,  from  door  to  door,  until  the 
needed  amount  was  made  up.  Ailie  fled  reck- 
lessly down  the  stairs,  and  cried  triumphantly  to 
the  upward-looking,  silent  crowd  that  had  grown 
and  grown  around  Tammy,  like  some  host  of 
children  crusaders. 

While  Ailie  and  Tammy  were  collecting  the 
price  of  his  ransom  Bobby  was  exploring  the 

192 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

intricately  cut-up  interior  of  old  St.  Giles,  sniffing 
at  the  rifts  in  flimsily  plastered  partitions  that 
the  Lord  Provost  pointed  out  to  Mr.  Traill. 
Rats  were  in  those  crumbling  walls.  If  there  had 
been  a  hole  big  enough  to  admit  him,  the  plucky 
little  dog  would  have  gone  in  after  them.  For- 
bidden to  enlarge  one,  Bobby  could  only  poke 
his  indignant  muzzle  into  apertures,  and  brace 
himself  as  for  a  fray.  And,  at  the  very  smell  of 
him,  there  were  such  squeakings  and  scamperings 
in  hidden  runways  as  to  be  almost  beyond  a 
terrier's  endurance.  The  Lord  Provost  watched 
him  with  an  approving  eye. 

' '  When  these  partitions  are  tak'n  down  Bobby 
would  be  vera  useful  in  ridding  our  noble  old 
cathedral  of  vermin.  But  that  will  not  be  in 
this  wee  Highlander's  day  nor,  I  fear,  in  mine." 
About  the  speech  of  this  Peebles  man,  who  had 
risen  from  poverty  to  distinction,  learning, 
wealth,  and  many  varieties  of  usefulness,  there 
was  still  an  engaging  burr.  And  his  manner  was 
so  simple  that  he  put  the  humblest  at  his  ease. 

There  had  been  no  formality  about  the  meet- 
ing at  all.  Glenormiston  was  standing  in  a  rear 
doorway  of  the  cathedral  near  the  Regent's 
Tomb,  looking  out  into  the  sunny  square  of 
Parliament  Close,  when  Mr.  Traill  and  Bobby 
appeared.  Near  seventy,  at  that  time,  a  back- 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

ward  sweep  of  white  hair  and  a  downward  flow 
of  square-cut,  white  beard  framed  a  boldly 
featured  face  and  left  a  generous  mouth  un- 
covered. 

"Gude  morning,  Mr.  Traill.  So  that  is  the 
famous  dog  that  has  stood  sentinel  for  more  than 
eight  years.  He  should  be  tak'n  up  to  the  Castle 
and  shown  to  young  soldiers  who  grumble  at 
twenty-four  hours'  guard  duty.  How  do  you  do, 
sir!"  The  great  man,  whom  the  Queen  knighted 
later,  and  whom  the  University  he  was  too 
poor  to  attend  as  a  lad  honored  with  a  degree, 
stooped  from  the  Regent's  Tomb  and  shook 
Bobby's  lifted  paw  with  grave  courtesy.  Then, 
leaving  the  little  dog  to  entertain  himself,  he 
turned  easily  to  his  own  most  absorbing  interest 
of  the  moment. 

"Do  you  happen  to  care  for  Edinburgh  an- 
tiquities, Mr.  Traill?  Reformation  piety  made 
sad  havoc  of  art  everywhere.  Man,  come  here!" 

Down  into  the  lime  dust  the  Lord  Provost  and 
the  landlord  went,  in  their  good  black  clothes, 
for  a  glimpse  of  a  bit  of  sculpturing  on  a  tomb 
that  had  been  walled  in  to  make  a  passage.  A 
loose  brick  removed,  behind  and  above  it,  the 
sun  flashed  through  fragments  of  emerald  and 
ruby  gltjss  of  a  saint's  robe,  in  a  bricked-up 
window.  Such  buried  and  forgotten  treasure, 

194 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

Glenormiston  explained,  filled  the  entire  south 
transept.  In  the  High  Kirk,  that  then  filled 
the  eastern  end  of  the  cathedral,  they  went  up 
a  cheap  wooden  stairway,  to  the  pew -filled 
gallery  that  was  built  into  the  old  choir,  and 
sat  down.  Mr.  Traill's  eyes  sparkled.  Glenor- 
miston was  a  man  after  his  own  heart,  and  they 
were  getting  along  famously ;  but,  oh !  it  began 
to  seem  more  and  more  unlikely  that  a  Lord 
Provost,  who  was  concerned  about  such  braw 
things  as  the  restoration  of  the  old  cathedral 
and  letting  the  sun  into  the  ancient  tenements, 
should  be  much  interested  in  a  small,  master- 
less  dog. 

"Man,  auld  John  Knox  will  turn  over  in  his 
bit  grave  in  Parliament  Close  if  you  put  a  *  kist  o* 
whustles'  in  St.  Giles."  Mr.  Traill  laughed. 

''I  admit  I  might  have  stopped  short  of  the 
organ  but  for  the  courageous  example  of  Doctor 
Lee  in  Greyfriars.  It  was  from  him  that  I  had  a 
quite  extravagant  account  of  this  wee,  leal  High- 
lander a  few  years  ago.  I  have  aye  meant  to  go 
to  see  him,  but  I'm  a  busy  man  and  the  matter 
passed  out  of  mind.  Mr.  Traill,  I'm  your  sadly 
needed  witness.  I  heard  you  from  the  doorway 
of  the  court-room,  and  I  sent  up  a  note  confirming 
your  story  and  asking,  as  a  courtesy,  that  thfl 
case  be  turned  over  to  me  for  some  exceptional 

iff 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

disposal.  Would  you  mind  telling  another  man 
the  tale  that  so  moved  Doctor  Lee?  I've  aye 
had  a  fondness  for  the  human  document." 

So  there,  above  the  pulpit  of  the  High  Kirk  of 
St.  Giles,  the  tale  was  told  again,  so  strangely 
did  this  little  dog's  life  come  to  be  linked  with 
the  highest  and  lowest,  the  proudest  and 
liumblest  in  the  Scottish  capital.  Now,  at 
mention  of  Auld  Jock,  Bobby  put  his  shagged 
paws  up  inquiringly  on  the  edge  of  the  pew,  so 
that  Mr.  Traill  lifted  him.  He  lay  down  flat  be- 
tween the  two  men,  with  his  nose  on  his  paws, 
and  his  little  tousled  head  under  the  Lord 
Provost's  hand. 

Auld  Jock  lived  again  in  that  recital.  Glenor- 
miston,  coming  from  the  country  of  the  Ettrick 
shepherd,  knew  such  lonely  figures,  and  the  pathos 
of  old  age  and  waning  powers  that  drove  them 
in  to  the  poor  quarters  of  towns.  There  was 
pictured  the  stormy  night  and  the  simple  old  man 
who  sought  food  and  shelter,  with  the  devoted 
little  dog  that  "wasna  'is  ain."  Sick  unto 
death  he  was,  and  full  of  ignorant  prejudices  and 
fears  that  needed  wise  handling.  And  there  was 
the  well-meaning  landlord's  blunder,  humbly 
confessed,  and  the  obscure  and  tragic  result  of  it, 
in  a  foul  and  swarming  rookery  "juist  aff  the 
Coogate." 

196 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

"Man,  it  was  Bobby  that  told  me  of  his 
master's  condition.  He  begged  me  to  help  Auld 
Jock,  and  what  did  I  do  but  let  my  fule  tongue 
wag  about  doctors.  I  nae  more  than  turned  my 
back  than  the  auld  body  was  awa'  to  his  meeser- 
able  death.  It  has  aye  eased  my  conscience  a  bit 
to  feed  the  dog." 

"That's  not  the  only  reason  why  you  have  fed 
him."  There  was  a  twinkle  in  the  Lord  Pro- 
vost's eye,  and  Mr.  Traill  blushed. 

"Weel,  I'll  admit  to  you  that  I'm  fair  fulish 
about  Bobby.  Man,  I've  courted  that  sma' 
terrier  for  eight  and  a  half  years.  He's  as  polite 
and  friendly  as  the  deil,  but  he'll  have  naething 
to  do  with  me  or  with  onybody.  I  wonder  the 
intelligent  bit  doesn't  bite  me  for  the  ill  turn  I 
did  his  master." 

Then  there  was  the  story  of  Bobby's  devotion 
to  Auld  Jock's  memory  to  be  told — the  days 
when  he  faced  starvation  rather  than  desert  that 
grave,  the  days  when  he  lay  cramped  under  the 
fallen  table-tomb,  and  his  repeated,  dramatic 
escapes  from  the  Pentland  farm.  His  never- 
broken  silence  in  the  kirkyard  was  only  to  be 
explained  by  the  unforgotten  orders  of  his  dead 
master.  His  intelligent  effort  to  make  himself 
useful  to  the  caretaker  had  won  indulgence.  His 
ready  obedience,  good  temper,  high  spirits  and 

H 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

friendliness  had  made  him  the  special  pet  of  the 
tenement  children  and  the  Heriot  laddies.  At 
the  very  last  Mr.  Traill  repeated  the  talk  he  had 
had  with  the  non-commissioned  officer  from  the 
Castle,  and  confessed  his  own  fear  of  some  forlorn 
end  for  Bobby.  It  was  true  he  was  nobody's 
dog;  and  he  was  fascinated  by  soldiers  and 
military  music,  and  so,  perhaps — 

"I'll  no'  be  reconciled  to  parting —  Eh,  man, 
that's  what  Auld  Jock  himsel'  said  when  he  was 
telling  me  that  the  bit  dog  must  be  returned  to 
the  sheep-farm :  '  It  wull  be  sair  partin' . ' "  Tears 
stood  in  the  unashamed  landlord's  eyes. 

Glenormiston  was  pulling  Bobby's  silkily 
fringed  ears  thoughtfully.  Through  all  this  talk 
about  his  dead  master  the  little  dog  had  not 
stirred.  For  the  second  time  that  day  Bobby's 
veil  was  pushed  back,  first  by  the  most  unfor- 
tunate laddie  in  the  decaying  tenements  about 
Greyfriars,  and  now  by  the  Lord  Provost  of  the 
ancient  royal  burgh  and  capital  of  Scotland. 
And  both  made  the  same  discovery.  Deep- 
brown  pools  of  love,  young  Bobby's  eyes  had 
dwelt  upon  Auld  Jock.  Pools  of  sad  memories 
they  were  now,  looking  out  wistfully  and  pa- 
tiently upon  a  masterless  world. 

"Are  you  thinking  he  would  be  reconciled  to  be 
anywhere  away  from  that  grave  ?  Look,  man  1" 

1,08 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

"Lord  forgive  me!  I  aye  thought  the  wee 
doggie  happy  enough." 

After  a  moment  the  two  men  went  down  the 
gallery  stairs  in  silence.  Bobby  dropped  from 
the  bench  and  fell  into  a  subdued  trot  at  their 
heels.  As  they  left  the  cathedral  by  the  door 
that  led  into  High  Street  Glenormiston  remarked, 
with  a  mysterious  smile: 

"I'm  thinking  Edinburgh  can  do  better  by 
wee  Bobby  than  to  banish  him  to  the  Castle. 
But  wait  a  bit,  man.  A  kirk  is  not  the  place  for 
settling  a  small  dog's  affairs." 

The  Lord  Provost  led  the  way  westward  along 
the  cathedral's  front.  On  High  Street,  St.  Giles 
had  three  doorways .  The  middle  door  then  gave 
admittance  to  the  police  office;  the  western 
opened  into  the  Little  Kirk,  popularly  known  as 
Haddo's  Hole.  It  was  into  this  bare,  white- 
washed chapel  that  Glenormiston  turned  to  get 
some  restoration  drawings  he  had  left  on  the 
pulpit.  He  was  explaining  them  to  Mr.  Traill 
when  he  was  interrupted  by  a  murmur  and  a 
shuffle,  as  of  many  voices  and  feet,  and  an  odd 
tap-tap-tapping  in  the  vestibule. 

Of  all  the  doorways  on  the  north  and  south 
fronts  of  St.  Giles  the  one  to  the  Little  Kirk  was 
nearest  the  end  of  George  IV.  Bridge.  Confused 
by  the  vast  size  and  imposing  architecture  of 

199 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

the  old  cathedral,  these  slum  children,  in  search  of 
the  police  office,  went  no  farther,  but  ventured 
timidly  into  the  open  vestibule  of  Haddo's  Hole. 
Any  doubts  they  might  have  had  about  this  being 
the  right  place  were  soon  dispelled.  Bobby 
heard  them  and  darted  out  to  investigate.  And 
suddenly  they  were  all  inside,  overwrought  Ailie 
on  the  floor,  clasping  the  little  dog  and  crying 
hysterically : 

"Bobby's  no*  deid!  Bobby's  no'  deid!  Oh, 
Maister  Traill,  ye  wullna  hae  to  gie  'im  up  to  the 
police!  Tammy's  got  the  seven  shullin's  in  'is 
bonnet!" 

And  there  was  small  Tammy,  crutches  dropped 
and  pouring  that  offering  of  love  and  mercy  out 
at  the  foot  of  an  altar  in  old  St.  Giles.  Such  an 
astonishing  pile  of  copper  coins  it  was,  that  it 
looked  to  the  landlord  like  the  loot  of  some  shop- 
keeper's change  drawer. 

"Eh,  puir  laddie,  whaur  did  ye  get  it  a* 
noo?"  he  asked,  gravely. 

Tammy  was  very  self-possessed  and  proud. 
"The  bairnies  aroond  the  kirkyaird  gie'd  it  to 
pay  the  police  no'  to  mak'  Bobby  be  deid." 

Mr.  Traill  flashed  a  glance  at  Glenormiston. 
It  was  a  look  at  once  of  triumph  and  of  humility 
over  the  Herculean  deed  of  these  disinherited 
children.  But  the  Lord  Provost  was  gazing  at 

200 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

that  crowd  of  pale  bairns,  products  of  the  Old 
Town's  ancient  slums,  and  feeling,  in  his  own 
person,  the  civic  shame  of  it.  And  he  was  think- 
ing, thinking,  that  he  must  hasten  that  other 
project  nearest  his  heart,  of  knocking  holes  in 
solid  rows  of  foul  cliffs,  in  the  Cowgate,  on  High 
Street,  and  around  Greyfriars.  It  was  an  incred- 
ible thing  that  such  a  flower  of  affection  should 
have  bloomed  so  sweetly  in  such  sunless  cells. 
And  it  was  a  new  gospel,  at  that  time,  that  a 
dog  or  a  horse  or  a  bird  might  have  its  mis- 
sion in  this  world  of  making  people  kinder  and 
happier. 

They  were  all  down  on  the  floor,  in  the  space 
before  the  altar,  unwashed,  uncombed,  uncon- 
scious of  the  dirty  rags  that  scarce  covered 
them;  quite  happy  and  self -forgetful  in  the 
charming  friskings  and  friendly  lollings  of  the 
well-fed,  carefully  groomed,  beautiful  little  dog. 
Ailie,  still  so  excited  that  she  forgot  to  be  shy,  put 
Bobby  through  his  pretty  tricks.  He  rolled  over 
and  over,  he  jumped,  he  danced  to  Tammy's 
whistling  of  "Bonnie  Dundee,"  he  walked  on  his 
hind  legs  and  louped  at  a  bonnet,  he  begged,  he 
lifted  his  short  shagged  paw  and  shook  hands. 
Then  he  sniffed  at  the  heap  of  coins,  looked  up 
inquiringly  at  Mr.  Traill,  and,  concluding  that 
here  was  some  property  to  be  guarded,  stood  by 

2OI 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

the  "siller  "  as  stanchly  as  a  soldier.  It  was  just 
pure  pleasure  to  watch  him. 

Very  suddenly  the  Lord  Provost  changed  his 
mind.  A  sacred  kirk  was  the  very  best  place  of 
all  to  settle  this  little  dog's  affairs.  The  offering 
of  these  children  could  not  be  refused.  It  should 
lie  there,  below  the  altar,  and  be  consecrated  to 
some  other  blessed  work;  and  he  would  do  now 
and  here  what  he  had  meant  to  do  elsewhere  and 
in  a  quite  different  way.  He  lifted  Bobby  to  the 
pulpit  so  that  all  might  see  him,  and  he  spoke 
so  that  all  might  understand. 

"Are  ye  kennin'  what  it  is  to  gie  the  freedom 
o'  the  toon  to  grand  folk?" 

"It's — it's  when  the  bonny  Queen  comes  an* 
ye  gie  her  the  keys  to  the  burgh  gates  that  are 
no'  here  ony  mair."  Tammy,  being  in  Heriot's, 
was  a  laddie  of  learning. 

"Weel  done,  laddie.  Lang  syne  there  was  a 
wa'  aroond  Edinburgh  wi'  gates  in  it."  Oh  yes, 
all  these  bairnies  knew  that,  and  the  fragment  of 
it  that  was  still  to  be  seen  outside  and  above  the 
Grassmarket,  with  its  sentry  tower  by  the  old  west 
port.  "Gin  a  fey  king  or  ither  grand  veesitor 
cam',  the  Laird  Provost  an'  the  maigestrates  gied 
'im  the  keys  so  he  could  gang  in  an'  oot  at  'is 
pleesure.  The  wa's  are  a'  doon  noo,  an'  the 
gates  no'  here  ony  mair,  but  we  hae  the  keys,  an' 

202 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

we  mak'  a  show  o'  gien'  'em  to  veesitors  wha  are 
vera  grand  or  wise  or  gude,  or  juist  usefu'  by  the 
ordinar'." 

"Maister  Gladstane,"  said  Tammy. 

"Ay,  we  honor  the  Queen's  meenisters;  an* 
Miss  Nightingale,  wha  nursed  the  soldiers  i' 
the  war;  an'  Leddy  Burdett-Coutts,  wha  gies  a' 
her  siller  an'  a'  her  heart  to  puir  folk  an'  is  aye 
kind  to  horses  and  dogs  an'  singin'  birdies;  an' 
we  gie  the  keys  to  heroes  o'  the  war  wha  are 
brave  an'  faithfu'.  An'  noo,  there's  a  wee  bit 
beastie.  He's  weel-behavin',  an'  isna  makin'  a 
blatterin'  i'  an  auld  kirkyaird.  He  aye  minds 
what  he's  bidden  to  do.  He's  cheerfu'  an'  busy, 
keepin'  the  proolin'  pussies  an'  vermin  frae  the 
sma*  birdies  i'  the  nests.  He  mak's  friends  o' 
ilka  body,  an*  he's  faithfu'.  For  a  deid  man  he 
lo'ed  he's  gaun  hungry ;  an'  he  hasna  forgotten  'im 
or  left  'im  by  'is  lane  at  nicht  for  mair  years  than 
some  o'  ye  are  auld.  An'  gin  ye  find  'im  lyin' 
canny,  an'  ye  tak'  a  keek  into  'is  bonny  brown 
een,  ye  can  see  he's  aye  greetin'.  An'  so,  ye 
didna  ken  why,  but  ye  a'  lo'ed  the  lanely  wee — " 

1  4  Bobby !' '  It  was  an  excited  breath  of  a  word 
from  the  wide-eyed  bairns. 

4  *  Bobby!  Havers!  A  bittie  dog  wadna  ken 
what  to  do  wi'  keys." 

But  Glenormiston  was  smiling,  and  these  sharp- 
303 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

witted  slum  bairns  exchanged  knowing  glances. 
"Whaur's  that  sma'—  ?"  He  dived  into  this 
pocket  and  that,  making  a  great  pretense  of 
searching,  until  he  found  a  narrow  band  of  new 
leather,  with  holes  in  one  end  and  a  stout  buckle 
on  the  other,  and  riveted  fast  in  the  middle  of  it 
was  a  shining  brass  plate.  Tammy  read  the  in- 
scription aloud: 

GREYFRIARS  BOBBY 

FROM   THE   LORD   PROVOST 

1867     Licensed 

The  wonderful  collar  was  passed  from  hand  to 
hand  in  awed  silence.  The  children  stared  and 
stared  at  this  white-haired  and  bearded  man, 
who  "wasna  grand  ava,"  but  who  talked  to  them 
as  simply  and  kindly  as  a  grandfaither.  He 
went  right  on  talking  to  them  in  his  homely  way 
to  put  them  at  their  ease,  telling  them  that  no- 
body at  all,  not  even  the  bonny  Queen,  could  be 
more  than  kind  and  well-behaving  and  faithful 
to  duty.  Wee  Bobby  was  all  that,  and  so: 
"Gin  dizzens  an*  dizzens  o'  bairns  war  kennin* 
'im,  an'  wad  fetch  seven  shullin's  i'  their  ha'- 
pennies to  a  kirk,  they  could  buy  the  richt  for 
the  braw  doggie  to  be  leevin',  the  care  o'  them  a', 

204 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

i'  the  auld  kirkyaird  o'  Greyfriars.  An'  he 
maun  hae  the  collar  so  the  police  wull  ken  'im 
an'  no*  ever  tak'  'im  up  for  a  puir,  gaen-aboot 
dog." 

The  children  quite  understood  the  responsi- 
bility they  assumed,  and  their  eyes  shone  with 
pride  at  the  feeling  that,  if  more  fortunate  friends 
failed,  this  little  creature  must  never  be  allowed 
to  go  hungry.  And  when  he  came  to  die — oh, 
in  a  very,  very  few  years,  for  they  must  remem- 
ber that  "a  doggie  isna  as  lang-leevin'  as  folk" — 
they  must  not  forget  that  Bobby  would  not  be 
permitted  to  be  buried  in  the  kirkyard. 

"We'll  gie  Jim  a  grand  buryin',"  said  Tammy. 
"We'll  find  a  green  brae  by  a  babblin'  burn 
aneath  a  snawy  hawthorn,  whaur  the  throstle 
sings  an'  the  blackbird  whustles."  For  the 
crippled  laddie  had  never  forgotten  Mr.  Train's 
description  of  a  proper  picnic,  and  that  must, 
indeed,  be  a  wee  dog's  heaven. 

"Ay,  that  wull  do  fair  weel."  The  collar  had 
come  back  to  him  by  this  time,  and  the  Lord 
Provost  buckled  it  securely  about  Bobby's  neck 


THE  music  of  bagpipe,  fife  and  drum  brought 
them  all  out  of  Haddo's  Hole  into  High 
Street.  It  was  the  hour  of  the  morning  drill, 
and  the  soldiers  were  marching  out  of  the  Castle. 
From  the  front  of  St.  Giles,  that  jutted  into  the 
steep  thoroughfare,  they  could  look  up  to  where 
the  street  widened  to  the  esplanade  on  Castle 
Hill.  Rank  after  rank  of  scarlet  coats,  swinging 
kilts  and  sporrans,  and  plumed  bonnets  appeared. 
The  sun  flashed  back  from  rifle  barrels  and  bayo- 
nets and  from  countless  bright  buttons. 

A  number  of  the  older  laddies  ran  up  the 
climbing  street.  Mr.  Traill  called  Bobby  back 
and,  with  a  last  grip  of  Glenormiston's  hand,  set 
off  across  the  bridge.  To  the  landlord  the  world 
seemed  a  brave  place  to  be  living  in,  the  fabric 
of  earth  and  sky  and  human  society  to  be  woven 
of  kindness.  Having  urgent  business  of  buying 
supplies  in  the  markets  at  Broughton  and 
Lauriston,  Mr.  Traill  put  Bobby  inside  the  kirk- 
yard  gate  and  hurried  away  to  get  into  his  every- 
day clothing.  After  dinner,  or  tea,  he  promised 

206 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

himself  the  pleasure  of  an  hour  at  the  lodge,  to 
tell  Mr.  Brown  the  wonderful  news,  and  to  show 
him  Bobby's  braw  collar. 

When,  finally,  he  was  left  alone,  Bobby  trotted 
around  the  kirk,  to  assure  himself  that  Auld 
Jock's  grave  was  unmolested.  There  he  turned 
on  his  back,  squirmed  and  rocked  on  the  crocuses, 
and  tugged  at  the  unaccustomed  collar.  His 
inverted  struggles,  low  growlings  and  furry  con- 
tortions set  the  wrens  to  scolding  and  the  red- 
breasts to  making  nervous  inquiries.  Much  nest- 
building,  tuneful  courtship,  and  masculine  blus- 
tering was  going  on,  and  there  was  little  police 
duty  for  Bobby.  After  a  time  he  sat  up  on  the 
table-tomb,  pensively.  With  Mr.  Brown  con- 
fined to  the  lodge,  and  Mistress  Jeanie  in  close 
attendance  upon  him  there,  the  kirkyard  was  a 
lonely  place  for  a  sociable  little  dog;  and  a  soft, 
spring  day  given  over  to  brooding  beside  a 
beloved  grave,  was  quite  too  heart-breaking  a 
thing  to  contemplate.  Just  for  cheerful  occu- 
pation Bobby  had  another  tussle  with  the  collar. 
He  pulled  it  so  far  under  his  thatch  that  no  one 
could  have  guessed  that  he  had  a  collar  on  at  all, 
when  he  suddenly  righted  himself  and  scampered 
away  to  the  gate. 

The  music  grew  louder  and  came  nearer.  The 
first  of  the  route-marching  that  the  Castle  garri- 

207 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

son  practised  on  occasional,  bright  spring  morn- 
ings was  always  a  delightful  surprise  to  the  small 
boys  and  dogs  of  Edinburgh.  Usually  the  sol- 
diers went  down  High  Street  and  out  to  Porto- 
bello  on  the  sea.  But  a  regiment  of  tough  and 
wiry  Highlanders  often  took,  by  preference,  the 
mounting  road  to  the  Pentlands  to  get  a  whiff  of 
heather  in  their  nostrils. 

On  they  came,  band  playing,  colors  flying, 
feet  moving  in  unison  with  a  march,  across  the 
viaduct  bridge  into  Greyfriars  Place.  Bobby 
was  up  on  the  wicket,  his  small,  energetic  body 
quivering  with  excitement  from  his  muzzle  to 
his  tail.  If  Mr.  Traill  had  been  there  he  would 
surely  have  caught  the  infection,  thrown  care  to 
this  sweet  April  breeze  for  once,  and  taken  the 
wee  terrier  for  a  run  on  the  Pentland  braes.  The 
temptation  was  going  by  when  a  preoccupied 
lady,  with  a  sheaf  of  Easter  lilies  on  her  sable 
arm,  opened  the  wicket.  Her  ample  Victorian 
skirts  swept  right  over  the  little  dog,  and  when 
he  emerged  there  was  the  gate  slightly  ajar. 
Widening  the  aperture  with  nose  and  paws, 
Bobby  was  off,  skirmishing  at  large  on  the  rear 
and  flanks  of  the  troops,  down  the  Burghmuir. 

It  may  never  have  happened,  in  the  years  since 
Auld  Jock  died  and  the  farmer  of  Cauldbrae  gave 
up  trying  to  keep  him  on  the  hills,  that  Bobby 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

had  gone  so  far  back  on  this  once  familiar  road; 
and  he  may  not  have  recognized  it  at  first,  for  the 
highways  around  Edinburgh  were  everywhere 
much  alike.  This  one  alone  began  to  climb 
again.  Up,  up  it  toiled,  for  two  weary  miles, 
to  the  hilltop  toll-bar  of  Fairmilehead,  and  there 
the  sounds  and  smells  that  made  it  different  from 
other  roads  began. 

Five  miles  out  of  the  city  the  halt  was  called,, 
and  the  soldiers  flung  themselves  on  the  slope. 
Many  experiences  of  route-marching  had  taught 
Bobby  that  there  was  an  interval  of  rest  before 
the  return,  so,  with  his  nose  to  the  ground,  he 
started  up  the  brae  on  a  pilgrimage  to  old 
shrines.  Just  as  in  his  puppyhood  days,  at 
Auld  Jock's  heels,  there  was  much  shouting  of 
men,  barking  of  collies,  and  bleating  of  sheep  all 
the  way  up.  Once  he  had  to  leave  the  road  until 
a  driven  flock  had  passed.  Behind  the  sheep 
walked  an  old  laborer  in  hodden-gray,  woolen 
bonnet,  and  shepherd's  twa-fold  plaid,  with  a 
lamb  in  the  pouch  of  it.  Bobby  trembled  at  the 
apparition,  sniffed  at  the  hob-nailed  boots,  and 
then,  with  drooped  head  and  tail,  trotted  on  up 
the  slope. 

Men  and  dogs  were  all  out  on  the  billowy  pas- 
tures, and  the  farm-house  of  Cauldbrae  lay  on 
the  level  terrace,  seemingly  deserted  and  steeped 

209 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

in  memories.  A  few  moments  before,  a  tall  lassie 
had  come  out  to  listen  to  the  military  music. 
A  couple  of  hundred  feet  below,  the  coats  of  the 
soldiers  looked  to  her  like  poppies  scattered  on 
the  heather.  At  the  top  of  the  brae  the  wind 
was  blowing  a  cold  gale,  so  the  maidie  went  up 
again,  and  around  to  a  bit  of  tangled  garden  on 
the  sheltered  side  of  the  house.  The  "wee 
lassie  Elsie "  was  still  a  bairn  in  short  skirts 
and  braids,  who  lavished  her  soft  heart,  as  yet, 
on  briar  bushes  and  daisies. 

Bobby  made  a  tour  of  the  sheepfold,  the  cow- 
yard  and  byre,  and  he  lingered  behind  the  byre, 
where  Auld  Jock  had  played  with  him  on  Sab- 
bath afternoons.  He  inspected  the  dairy,  and 
the  poultry-house  where  hens  were  sitting  on 
their  nests.  By  and  by  he  trotted  around  the 
house  and  came  upon  the  lassie,  busily  clearing 
winter  rubbish  from  her  posie  bed.  A  dog 
changes  very  little  in  appearance,  but  in  eight 
and  a  half  years  a  child  grows  into  a  different 
person  altogether.  Bobby  barked  politely  to 
let  this  strange  lassie  know  that  he  was  there. 
In  the  next  instant  he  knew  her,  for  she  whirled 
about  and,  in  a  kind  of  glad  wonder,  cried 
out: 

"Oh,  Bobby!  hae  ye  come  name?  Mither, 
here's  ma  ain  wee  Bobby!"  For  she  had  never 

210 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

given  up  the  hope  that  this  adored  little  pet 
would  some  day  return  to  her. 

"  Havers,  lassie,  ye're  aye  seem'  Bobby  i'  ilka 
Hielan'  terrier,  an*  there's  mony  o'  them  aboot." 

The  gude-wife  looked  from  an  attic  window  in 
the  steep  gable,  and  then  hurried  down.  "  Weel, 
noo,  ye're  richt,  Elsie.  He  wad  be  comin'  wi' 
the  regiment  frae  the  Castle.  Bittie  doggies  an* 
laddies  are  fair  daft  aboot  the  soldiers.  Ay,  he's 
bonny,  an'  weel  cared  for,  by  the  ordinar'.  I 
wonder  gin  he's  still  leevin'  i'  the  grand  auld 
kirkyaird." 

Wary  of  her  remembered  endearments,  Bobby 
kept  a  safe  distance  from  the  maidie,  but  he  sat 
up  and  lolled  his  tongue,  quite  willing  to  pay 
her  a  friendly  visit.  From  that  she  came  to  a 
wrong  conclusion:  "Sin'  he  cam'  o'  his  ain 
accord  he's  like  to  bide."  Her  eyes  were  blue 
stars. 

"I  wadna  be  coontin'  on  that,  lassie.  An'  I 
wadna  sneck  a  door  on  'im  anither  time.  Gin 
he  wanted  to  get  oot  he'd  dig  aneath  a  floor  o' 
stane.  Leuk  at  that,  noo!  The  bonny  wee  is 
greetin'  for  Auld  Jock." 

It  was  true,  for,  on  entering  the  kitchen,  Bobby 
went  straight  to  the  bench  in  the  corner  and  lay 
down  flat  tinder  it.  Elsie  sat  beside  him,  just  as 
she  had  done  of  old.  Her  eyes  overflowed  so  in 

an 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

sympathy  that  the  mother  was  quite  distract) 
This  would  not  do  at  all. 

"Lassie,  are  ye  no'  rememberin'  Bobby 
fair  fond  o'  moor-hens'  eggs  fried  wi'  bits  o' 
cheese  ?  He  wullna  be  gettin'  thae  things ;  an'  it 
wad  be  maist  michty,  noo,  gin  ye  couldna  win 
the  bittie  dog  awa'  frae  the  reekie  auld  toon. 
Gang  oot  wi'  'im  an'  rin  on  the  brae  an'  bid  'im 
find  the  nests  aneath  the  whins." 

In  a  moment  they  were  out  on  the  heather,  and 
it  seemed,  indeed,  as  if  Bobby  might  be  won. 
He  frisked  and  barked  at  Elsie's  heels,  chased 
rabbits  and  flushed  the  grouse ;  and  when  he  ran 
into  a  peat-darkened  tarn,  rimmed  with  moss, 
he  had  such  a  cold  and  splashy  swim  as  quite  to 
give  a  little  dog  a  distaste  for  warm,  soapy  water 
in  a  claes  tub.  He  shook  and  ran  himself  dry, 
and  he  raced  the  laughing  child  until  they  both 
dropped  panting  on  the  wind-rippled  heath. 
Then  he  hunted  on  the  ground  under  the  gorse 
for  those  nests  that  had  a  dozen  or  more  eggs 
in  them.  He  took  just  one  from  each  in  his 
mouth,  as  Auld  Jock  had  taught  him  to  do.  On 
the  kitchen  hearth  he  ate  the  savory  meal  with 
much  satisfaction  and  polite  waggings.  But 
when  the  bugle  sounded  from  below  to  form 
ranks,  he  pricked  his  drop  ears  and  started  for 
the  door. 

212 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

Before  he  knew  what  had  happened  he  was 
inside  the  poultry-house.  In  another  instant  he 
was  digging  frantically  in  the  soft  earth  under 
the  door.  When  the  lassie  lay  down  across  the 
crack  he  stopped  digging,  in  consternation.  His 
sense  of  smell  told  him  what  it  was  that  shut  out 
the  strip  of  light ;  and  a  bairn's  soft  body  is  not 
a  proper  object  of  attack  for  a  little  dog,  no 
matter  how  desperate  the  emergency.  There 
was  no  time  to  be  lost,  for  the  drums  began  to 
beat  the  march.  Having  to  get  out  very  quickly, 
Bobby  did  a  forbidden  thing :  swiftly  and  noisily 
he  dashed  around  the  dark  place,  and  there 
arose  such  wild  squawkings  and  rushings  of  wings 
as  to  bring  the  gude-wife  out  of  the  house  in 
alarm. 

"Lassie,  I  canna  hae  the  bittie  dog  in  wi*  the 
broodin'  chuckies!" 

She  flung  the  door  wide.  Bobby  shot  through, 
and  into  Elsie's  outstretched  arms.  She  held  to 
him  desperately,  while  he  twisted  and  struggled 
and  strained  away;  and  presently  something 
shining  worked  into  view,  through  the  disordered 
thatch  about  his  neck.  The  mother  had  come 
to  the  help  of  the  child,  and  it  was  she  who  read 
the  inscription  on  the  brazen  plate  aloud. 

"Preserve  us  a'!  Lassie,  he's  been  tak'n  by 
the  Laird  Provost  an'  gien  the  name  o'  the  auld 
15  213 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

kirkyaird.  He's  an  ower  grand  doggie.  Ma  puif 
bairnie,  dinna  greet  so  sair!"  For  the  little  girl 
suddenly  released  the  wee  Highlander  and  sobbed 
on  her  mother's  shoulder. 

"He  isna  ma  ain  Bobby  ony  mair!"  She 
"couldna  thole"  to  watch  him  as  he  tumbled 
down  the  brae. 

On  the  outward  march,  among  the  many  dogs 
and  laddies  that  had  followed  the  soldiers,  Bobby 
escaped  notice.  But  most  of  these  had  gone 
adventuring  in  Swanston  Dell,  to  return  to  the 
city  by  the  gorge  of  Leith  Water.  Now,  traveling 
three  miles  to  the  soldiers'  one,  scampering  in 
wide  circles  over  the  fields,  swimming  burns, 
scrambling  under  hedges,  chasing  whaups  into 
piping  cries,  barking  and  louping  in  pure  exuber- 
ance of  spirits,  many  eyes  looked  upon  him 
admiringly,  and  discontented  mouths  turned  up- 
ward at  the  corners.  It  is  not  the  least  of  a 
little  dog's  missions  in  life  to  communicate  his 
own  irresponsible  gaiety  to  men. 

If  the  return  had  been  over  George  IV.  Bridge 
Bobby  would,  no  doubt,  have  dropped  behind 
at  Mr.  Traill's  or  at  the  kirkyard.  But  on  the 
Burghmuir  the  troops  swung  eastward  until  they 
rounded  Arthur's  Seat  and  met  the  cavalry 
drilling  before  the  barracks  at  Piershill.  Such 
pretty  manoeuvering  of  horse  and  foot  took  place 

214 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

below  Holyrood  Palace  as  quite  to  enrapture  a 
terrier.  When  the  infantry  marched  up  the 
Canongate  and  High  Street,  the  mounted  men 
following  and  the  bands  playing  at  full  blast,  the 
ancient  thoroughfare  was  quickly  lined  with 
cheering  crowds,  and  faces  looked  down  from 
ten  tiers  of  windows  on  a  beautiful  spectacle. 
Bobby  did  not  know  when  the  bridge-approach 
was  passed;  and  then,  on  Castle  Hill,  he  was  in 
an  unknown  region.  There  the  street  widened  to 
the  great  square  of  the  esplanade.  The  cavalry 
wheeled  and  dashed  down  High  Street,  but  the 
infantry  marched  on  and  up,  over  the  sounding 
drawbridge  that  spanned  a  dry  moat  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  and  through  a  deep-arched  gateway 
of  masonry. 

The  outer  gate  to  the  Castle  was  wider  than 
the  opening  into  many  an  Edinburgh  wynd ;  but 
Bobby  stopped,  uncertain  as  to  where  this 
narrow  roadway,  that  curved  upward  to  the 
right,  might  lead.  It  was  not  a  dark  fissure  in 
a  cliff  of  houses,  but  was  bounded  on  the  outer 
side  by  a  loopholed  wall,  and  on  the  inner  by  a 
rocky  ledge  of  ascending  levels.  Wherever  the 
shelf  was  of  sufficient  breadth  a  battery  of  cannon 
was  mounted,  and  such  a  flood  of  light  fell  from 
above  and  flashed  on  polished  steel  and  brass  as 
4o  make  the  little  dog  blink  in  bewilderment. 

215 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

And  he  whirled  like  a  rotary  sweeper  in  the  dusty 
road  and  yelped  when  the  time-gun,  in  the  half- 
moon  battery  at  the  left  of  the  gate  and  behind 
him,  crashed  and  shook  the  massive  rock. 

He  barked  and  barked,  and  dashed  toward  the 
insulting  clamor.  The  dauntless  little  dog  and 
his  spirited  protest  were  so  out  of  proportion  to 
the  huge  offense  that  the  guard  laughed,  and  other 
soldiers  ran  out  of  the  guard-houses  that  flanked 
the  gate.  They  would  have  put  the  noisy  terrier 
out  at  once,  but  Bobby  was  off,  up  the  curving 
roadway  into  the  Castle.  The  music  had  ceased, 
and  the  soldiers  had  disappeared  over  the  rise. 
Through  other  dark  arches  of  masonry  he  ran. 
On  the  crest  were  two  ways  to  choose — the  road- 
way on  around  and  past  the  barracks,  and  a 
flight  of  steps  cut  steeply  in  the  living  rock  of 
the  ledge,  and  leading  up  to  the  King's  Bastion, 
Bobby  took  the  stairs  at  a  few  bounds. 

On  the  summit  there  was  nothing  at  all  beside 
a  tiny,  ancient  stone  chapel  with  a  Norman 
arched  and  sculptured  doorway,  and  guarding  it 
an  enormous  burst  cannon.  But  these  ruins  were 
the  crown  jewels  of  the  fortifications — their 
origins  lost  in  legends — and  so  they  were  cared 
for  with  peculiar  reverence.  Sergeant  Scott  of 
the  Royal  Engineers  himself,  in  fatigue-dress, 
was  down  on  his  knees  before  St.  Margaret's 

216 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

oratory,  pulling  from  a  crevice  in  the  foundations 
a  knot  of  grass  that  was  at  its  insidious  work  of 
time  and  change.  As  Bobby  dashed  up  to  the 
citadel,  still  barking,  the  man  jumped  to  his 
feet.  Then  he  slapped  his  thigh  and  laughed. 
Catching  the  animated  little  bundle  of  protest 
the  sergeant  set  him  up  for  inspection  on  the 
shattered  breeching  of  Mons  Meg. 

"Losh!  The  sma'  dog  cam'  by  'is  ainsel'! 
He  could  no'  resist  the  braw  soldier  laddies. 
'He's  a  dog  o'  discreemination,'  eh?  Gin  he 
bides  a  wee,  noo,  it  wull  tak'  the  conceit  oot  o* 
the  innkeeper." 

He  turned  to  gather  up  his  tools,  for  the  first 
dinner  bugle  was  blowing.  Bobby  knew  by  the 
gun  that  it  was  the  dinner-hour,  but  he  had  been 
fed  at  the  farm  and  was  not  hungry.  He  might 
as  well  see  a  bit  more  of  life.  He  sat  upon  the 
cannon,  not  in  the  least  impressed  by  the  honor, 
and  lolled  his  tongue. 

In  Edinburgh  Castle  there  was  nothing  to 
alarm  a  little  dog.  A  dozen  or  more  large  build- 
ings, in  three  or  four  groups,  and  representing 
many  periods  of  architecture,  lay  to  the  south 
and  west  on  the  lowest  terraces,  and  about  them 
were  generous  parked  spaces.  Into  the  largest 
of  the  buildings,  a  long,  four-storied  barracks, 
the  soldiers  had  vanished.  And  now,  at  the 

217 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

blowing  of  a  second  bugle,  half  a  hundred  order- 
lies  hurried  down  from  a  modern  cook-house, 
near  the  summit,  with  cans  of  soup  and  meat 
and  potatoes.  The  sergeant  followed  one  of 
these  into  a  room  on  the  front  of  the  barracks. 
In  their  serge  fatigue  -  tunics  the  sixteen  men 
about  the  long  table  looked  as  different  from  the 
gay  soldiers  of  the  march  as  though  so  many 
scarlet  and  gold  and  bonneted  butterflies  had 
turned  back  into  sad-colored  grubs. 

"Private  McLean,"  he  called  to  his  batman 
who,  for  one-and-six  a  week,  cared  for  his  be- 
longings, "tak'  chairge  o'  the  dog,  wull  ye,  an' 
fetch  'im  to  the  non-com  mess  when  ye  come  to 
put  ma  kit  i'  gude  order." 

Before  he  could  answer  the  bombardment  of 
questions  about  Bobby  the  door  was  opened 
again.  The  men  dropped  their  knives  and  forks 
and  stood  at  attention.  The  officer  of  the  day 
was  making  the  rounds  of  the  forty  or  fifty  such 
rooms  in  the  barracks  to  inquire  of  the  soldiers  if 
their  dinner  was  satisfactory.  He  recognized  at 
once  the  attractive  little  Skye  that  had  taken 
the  eyes  of  the  men  on  the  march,  and  asked 
about  him.  Sergeant  Scott  explained  that 
Bobby  had  no  owner.  He  was  living,  by  per- 
mission, in  Greyfriars  kirkyard,  guarding  the 
grave  of  a  long-dead,  humble  master,  and  was 

218 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

fed  by  the  landlord  of  the  dining-rooms  near  the 
gate.  If  the  little  dog  took  a  fancy  to  garrison 
life,  and  the  regiment  to  him,  he  thought  Mr. 
Traill,  who  had  the  best  claim  upon  him,  might 
consent  to  his  transfer  to  the  Castle.  After 
orders,  at  sunset,  he  would  take  Bobby  down  to 
the  restaurant  himself. 

"I  wish  you  good  luck,  Sergeant."  The 
officer  whistled,  and  Bobby  leaped  upon  him  and 
off  again,  and  indulged  in  many  inconsequent 
friskings.  "Before  you  take  him  home  fetch 
him  over  to  the  officers'  mess  at  dinner.  It  is 
guest  night,  and  he  is  sure  to  interest  the  gentle- 
men. A  loyal  little  creature  who  has  guarded 
his  dead  master's  grave  for  more  than  eight  years 
deserves  to  have  a  toast  drunk  to  him  by  the 
officers  of  the  Queen.  But  it's  an  extraordinary 
story,  and  it  doesn't  sound  altogether  probable. 
Jolly  little  beggar !"  He  patted  Bobby  cordially 
on  the  side,  and  went  out. 

The  news  of  his  advent  and  fragments  of  his 
story  spread  so  quickly  through  the  barracks 
that  mess  after  mess  swarmed  down  from  the 
upper  floors  and  out  into  the  roadway  to  see 
Bobby.  Private  McLean  stood  in  the  door, 
smoking  a  cutty  pipe,  and  grinning  with  pride 
in  the  merry  little  ruffian  of  a  terrier,  who  met 
the  friendly  advances  of  the  soldiers  more  than 

219 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

half-way.  Bobby's  guardian  would  have  liked 
very  well  to  have  sat  before  the  canteen  in  the 
sun  and  gossiped  about  his  small  charge.  How- 
ever, in  the  sergeant's  sleeping-quarters  above  the 
mess-room,  he  had  the  little  dog  all  to  himself, 
and  Bobby  had  the  liveliest  interest  in  the  boxes 
and  pots,  brushes  and  sponges,  and  in  the  proc- 
esses of  polishing,  burnishing,  and  pipe-claying 
a  soldier's  boots  and  buttons  and  belts.  As  he 
worked  at  his  valeting,  the  man  kept  time  with 
his  foot  to  rude  ballads  that  he  sang  in  such  a 
hissing  Celtic  that  Bobby  barked,  scandalized  by 
a  dialect  that  had  been  music  in  the  ears  of  his 
ancestors.  At  that  Private  McLean  danced  a 
Highland  fling  for  him,  and  wee  Bobby  came  near 
bursting  with  excitement.  When  the  sergeant 
came  up  to  make  a  magnificent  toilet  for  tea  and 
for  the  evening  in  town,  the  soldier  expressed  him- 
self with  enthusiasm. 

"He  iss  a  defile  of  a  dog,  sir!" 

He  was  thought  to  be  a  "deffle  of  a  dog"  in 
the  mess,  where  the  non-com  officers  had  tea  at 
small  writing  and  card  tables.  They  talked 
and  laughed  very  fast  and  loud,  tried  Bobby  out 
on  all  the  pretty  tricks  he  knew,  and  taught  him 
to  speak  and  to  jump  for  a  lump  of  sugar  balanced 
on  his  nose.  They  did  not  fondle  him,  and  this 
rough,  masculine  style  of  pampering  and  petting 

220 


GREYFRIARS   BOBBY 

very  much  to  his  liking.  It  was  a  proud 
thing,  too,  for  a  little  dog,  to  walk  out  with  the 
sergeant's  shining  boots  and  twirled  walking- 
stick,  and  be  introduced  into  one  strange  place 
after  another  all  around  the  Castle. 

From  tea  to  tattoo  was  playtime  for  the  gar- 
rison. Many  smartly  dressed  soldiers,  with 
passes  earned  by  good  behavior,  went  out  to  find 
amusement  in  the  city.  Visitors,  some  of  them 
tourists  from  America,  made  the  rounds  under 
the  guidance  of  old  soldiers.  The  sergeant  fol- 
lowed such  a  group  of  sight-seers  through  a 
postern  behind  the  armory  and  out  onto  the 
cliff.  There  he  lounged  under  a  fir-tree  above 
St.  Margaret's  Well  and  smoked  a  dandified 
cigar,  while  Bobby  explored  the  promenade  and 
scraped  acquaintance  with  the  strangers. 

On  the  northern  and  southern  sides  the  Castle 
wall  rose  from  the  very  edge  of  sheer  precipices. 
Except  for  loopholes  there  were  no  openings. 
But  on  the  west  there  was  a  grassy  terrace  with- 
out the  wall,  and  below  that  the  cliff  fell  away 
a  little  less  steeply.  The  declivity  was  clothed 
sparsely  with  hazel  shrubs,  thorns,  whins  and 
thistles ;  and  now  and  then  a  stunted  fir  or  rowan 
tree  or  a  group  of  white-stemmed  birks  was  stoutly 
rooted  on  a  shelving  ledge.  Had  any  one,  the 
visitors  asked,  ever  escaped  down  this  wild  crag  ? 

221 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

Yes,  Queen  Margaret's  children,  the  guide 
answered.  Their  father  dead  in  battle,  their 
saintly  mother  dead  in  the  sanctuary  of  her  tiny 
chapel,  the  enemy  battering  at  the  gate,  soldiers 
had  lowered  the  royal  lady's  body  in  a  basket, 
and  got  the  orphaned  children  down,  in  safety 
and  away,  in  a  fog,  over  Queen's  Ferry  to  Dun- 
firmline  in  the  Kingdom  of  Fife.  It  was  true  that 
a  false  step  or  a  slip  of  the  foot  would  have 
dashed  them  to  pieces  on  the  rocks  below.  A 
gentleman  of  the  party  scouted  the  legend. 
Only  a  fox  or  an  Alpine  chamois  could  make 
that  perilous  descent. 

With  his  head  cocked  alertly,  Bobby  had  stood 
listening.  Hearing  this  vague  talk  of  going 
down,  he  may  have  thought  these  people  meant 
to  go,  for  he  quietly  dropped  over  the  edge  and 
went,  head  over  heels,  ten  feet  down,  and  landed 
in  a  clump  of  hazel.  A  lady  screamed.  Bobby 
righted  himself  and  barked  cheerful  reassurance. 
The  sergeant  sprang  to  his  feet  and  ordered  him 
to  come  back. 

Now,  the  sergeant  was  pleasant  company,  to 
be  sure ;  but  he  was  not  a  person  who  had  to  be 
obeyed,  so  Bobby  barked  again,  wagged  his 
crested  tail,  and  dropped  lower.  The  people 
who  shuddered  on  the  brink  could  see  that  the 
little  dog  was  going  cautiously  enough;  and 

222 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

presently  he  looked  doubtfully  over  a  sheer  fall 
of  twenty  feet,  turned  and  scrambled  back  to 
the  promenade.  He  was  cried  and  exclaimed 
over  by  the  hysterical  ladies,  and  scolded  for  a 
bittie  fule  by  the  sergeant.  To  this  Bobby  re- 
turned ostentatious  yawns  of  boredom  and  non- 
chalant lollings,  for  it  seemed  a  small  matter  to 
be  so  fashed  about.  At  that  a  gentleman  re- 
marked, testily,  to  hide  his  own  agitation,  that 
dogs  really  had  very  little  sense.  The  sergeant 
ordered  Bobby  to  precede  him  through  the  pos- 
tern, and  the  little  dog  complied  amiably. 

All  the  afternoon  bugles  had  been  blowing. 
For  each  signal  there  was  a  different  note,  and  at 
each  uniformed  men  appeared  and  hurried  to 
new  points.  Now,  near  sunset,  there  was  the 
fanfare  for  officers'  orders  for  the  next  day. 
The  sergeant  put  Bobby  into  Queen  Margaret's 
Chapel,  bade  him  remain  there,  and  went  down 
to  the  Palace  Yard.  The  chapel  on  the  summit 
was  a  convenient  place  for  picking  the  little  dog 
up  on  his  way  to  the  officers'  mess.  Then  he 
meant  to  have  his  own  supper  cozily  at  Mr. 
Traill's  and  to  negotiate  for  Bobby. 

A  dozen  people  would  have  crowded  this 
ancient  oratory,  but,  small  as  it  was,  it  was  fitted 
with  a  chancel-rail  and  a  font  for  baptizing  the 
babies  born  in  the  Castle.  Through  the  window 

223 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

above  the  altar,  where  the  sainted  Queen  was 
pictured  in  stained  glass,  the  sunlight  streamed 
and  laid  another  jeweled  image  on  the  stone 
floor.  Then  the  colors  faded,  until  the  holy 
place  became  an  austere  cell.  The  sun  had 
dropped  behind  the  western  Highlands. 

Bobby  thought  it  quite  time  to  go  home.  By 
day  he  often  went  far  afield,  seeking  distraction, 
but  at  sunset  he  yearned  for  the  grave  in  Grey- 
friars.  The  steps  up  which  he  had  come  lay  in 
plain  view  from  the  doorway  of  the  chapel. 
Bobby  dropped  down  the  stairs,  and  turned  into 
the  main  roadway  of  the  Castle.  At  the  first  arch 
that  spanned  it  a  red-coated  guard  paced  on  the 
other  side  of  a  closed  gate.  It  would  not  be 
locked  until  tattoo,  at  nine-thirty,  but,  without 
a  pass,  no  one  could  go  in  or  out.  Bobby  sprang 
on  the  bars  and  barked,  as  much  as  to  say : ' '  Come 
awa',  man,  I  hae  to  get  oot." 

The  guard  stopped,  presented  arms  to  this 
small,  peremptory  terrier,  and  inquired  face- 
tiously if  he  had  a  pass.  Bobby  bristled  and 
yelped  indignantly.  The  soldier  grinned  with 
amusement.  Sentinel  duty  was  lonesome  busi- 
ness, and  any  diversion  a  relief.  In  a  guard- 
house asleep  when  Bobby  came  into  the  Castle, 
he  had  not  seen  the  little  dog  before  and  knew 
nothing  about  him.  He  might  be  the  property 

224 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

of  one  of  the  regiment  ladies.  Without  orders 
he  dared  not  let  Bobby  cut.  A  furious  and  futile 
onslaught  on  the  gate  he  met  with  a  jocose  feint 
of  his  bayonet.  Tiring  of  the  play,  presently,  the 
soldier  turned  his  back  and  paced  to  the  end  of 
his  beat. 

Bobby  stopped  barking  in  sheer  astonishment. 
He  gazed  after  the  stiff,  retreating  back,  in 
frightened  disbelief  that  he  was  not  to  be  let  out. 
He  attacked  the  stone  under  the  barrier,  but 
quickly  discovered  its  unyielding  nature.  Then 
he  howled  until  the  sentinel  came  back,  but  when 
the  man  went  by  without  looking  at  him  he 
uttered  a  whimpering  cry  and  fled  upward.  The 
roadway  was  dark  and  the  dusk  was  gathering 
on  the  citadel  when  Bobby  dashed  across  the 
summit  and  down  into  the  brightly  lighted 
square  of  the  Palace  Yard. 

The  gas-lamps  were  being  lighted  on  the 
bridge,  and  Mr.  Traill  was  getting  into  his  street- 
coat  for  his  call  on  Mr.  Brown  when  Tammy  put 
his  head  in  at  the  door  of  the  restaurant.  The 
crippled  laddie  had  a  warm,  uplifted  look,  for 
Love  had  touched  the  sordid  things  of  life,  and 
a  miracle  had  bloomed  for  the  tenement  dwellers 
around  Greyfriars. 

"Maister  Traill,  Mrs.  Brown  says  wull  ye 
please  send  Bobby  hame.  Her  gude-mon's 

225 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

frettin*  for  'im;  an*  syne,  a*  the  folk  aroond  th« 
kirkyaird  hae  come  to  the  gate  to  see  the  bittie 
dog's  braw  collar.  They  wullna  believe  the  Laird 
Provost  gied  it  tc  'im  for  a  chairm  gin  they  dinna 
see  it  wi'  their  ain  een." 

"Why,  mannie,  Bobby's  no*  here.  He  must 
be  in  the  kirkyard." 

"Nae,  he  isna.  I  ca'ed,  an'  Ailie  keeked  in 
ilka  place  amang  the  stanes." 

They  stared  at  each  other,  the  landlord  serious, 
the  laddie's  lip  trembling.  Mr.  Traill  had  not 
returned  from  his  numerous  errands  about  the 
city  until  the  middle  of  the  afternoon.  He 
thought,  of  course,  that  Bobby  had  been  in  for  his 
dinner,  as  usual,  and  had  returned  to  the  kirkyard. 
It  appeared,  now,  that  no  one  about  the  dining- 
rooms  had  seen  the  little  dog.  Everybody  had 
thought  that  Mr.  Traill  had  taken  Bobby  with 
him.  He  hurried  down  to  the  gate  to  find  Mis- 
tress Jeanie  at  the  wicket,  and  a  crowd  of  tene- 
ment women  and  children  in  the  alcove  and 
massed  down  Candlemakers  Row.  Alarm  spread 
like  a  contagion.  In  eight  years  and  more 
Bobby  had  not  been  outside  the  kirkyard  gate 
after  the  sunset  bugle.  Mrs.  Brown  turned  pale. 

"Dinna  say  the  bittie  dog's  lost,  Maister 
Traill.  It  wad  gang  to  the  heart  o'  ma  gude- 
mon." 

226 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

"  Havers,  woman,  he's  no'  lost."  Mr.  Traill 
spoke  stoutly  enough.  "Just  go  up  to  the 
lodge  and  tell  Mr.  Brown  I'm — weel,  I'll  just 
attend  to  that  sma'  matter  my  ainsel'."  With 
that  he  took  a  gay  face  and  a  set-up  air  into  the 
lodge  to  meet  Mr.  Brown's  glowering  eye. 

"Whaur's  the  dog,  man?  I've  been  deaved 
aboot  'im  a'  the  day,  but  I  haena  seen  the  sonsie 
rascal  nor  the  braw  collar  the  Laird  Provost  gied 
'im.  An'  syne,  wi'  the  folk  comin'  to  spier  for 
'im  an'  swarmin'  ower  the  kirkyaird,  ye'd  think 
a  warlock  was  aboot.  Bobby  isna  your  dog — " 

' '  Haud  yoursel' ,  man.  Bobby's  a  famous  dog, 
>vith  the  freedom  of  Edinburgh  given  to  him,  and 
naething  will  do  but  Glenormiston  must  show 
him  to  a  company  o'  grand  folk  at  his  bit  country 
place.  He's  sending  in  a  cart  by  a  groom,  and 
I'm  to  tak'  Bobby  out  and  fetch  him  hame 
after  a  braw  dinner  on  gowd  plate.  The  bairns 
meant  weel,  but  they  could  no'  give  Bobby  a 
washing  fit  for  a  veesit  with  the  nobeelity.  I 
had  to  tak'  him  to  a  barber  for  a  shampoo." 

Mr.  Brown  roared  with  laughter.  "Man,  ye 
hae  mair  fule  notions  i'  yer  heid.  Ye'll  hae  to 
pay  a  shullin'  or  twa  to  a  barber,  an'  Bobby'll  be 
sae  set  up  there'll  be  nae  leevin'  wi'  'im.  Sit  ye 
doon  an'  tell  me  aboot  the  collar,  man." 

"I  can  no'  stop  now  to  wag  my  tongue. 
aai 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

Here's  the  gude-wife.     I'll  just  help  her  get  you 
awa'  to  your  bed." 

It  was  dark  when  he  returned  to  the  gate,  and 
the  Castle  wore  its  luminous  crown.  The  lights 
from  the  street  lamps  flickered  on  the  up-turned, 
anxious  faces.  Some  of  the  Children  had  begun 
to  weep.  Women  offered  loud  suggestions. 
There  were  surmises  that  Bobby  had  been  run 
over  by  a  cart  in  the  street,  and  angry  conjec- 
tures that  he  had  been  stolen.  Then  Ailie  wailed : 

"Oh,  Maister  Traill,  the  bittie  dog's  deid!" 

"Havers,  lassie!  I'm  ashamed  o'  ye  for  a 
fulish  bairn.  Bobby's  no'  deid.  Nae  doot  he's 
amang  the  stanes  i'  the  kirkyaird.  He's  aye 
scramblin'  aboot  for  vermin  an'  pussies,  an'  may 
hae  hurt  himsel',  an'  ye  a'  ken  the  bonny  wee 
wadna  cry  oot  i'  the  kirkyaird.  Noo,  get  to  wark, 
an'  dinna  stand  there  greetin'  an'  waggin'  yer 
tongues.  The  mithers  an*  bairns  maun  juist 
gang  hame  an'  stap  their  havers,  an'  licht  a'  the 
candles  an'  cruisey  lamps  i'  their  names,  an'  set 
them  i'  the  windows  aboon  the  kirkyaird. 
Greyf riars  is  murky  by  the  ordinar',  an'  ye 
couldna  find  a  coo  there  wi'oot  the  lichts." 

The  crowd  suddenly  melted  away,  so  eager 
were  they  all  to  have  a  hand  in  helping  to  find 
the  community  pet.  Then  Mr.  Traill  turned  to 
the  boys. 

228 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

"Hoo  mony  o*  ye  laddies  hae  the  bull's-eye 
fenterns?" 

Ah !  not  many  in  the  old  buildings  around  the 
kirkyard.  These  japanned  tin  aids  to  dark  ad- 
ventures on  the  golf  links  on  autumn  nights  cost 
a  sixpence  and  consumed  candles.  Geordie  Ross 
and  Sandy  McGregor,  coming  up  arm  in  arm, 
knew  of  other  students  and  clerks  who  still  had 
these  cherished  toys  of  boyhood.  With  these 
heroes  in  the  lead  a  score  or  more  of  laddies 
swarmed  into  the  kirkyard. 

The  tenements  were  lighted  up  as  they  had 
not  been  since  nobles  held  routs  and  balls  there. 
Enough  candles  and  oil  were  going  up  in  smoke 
to  pay  for  wee  Bobby's  license  all  over  again,  and 
enough  love  shone  in  pallid  little  faces  that 
peered  into  the  dusk  to  light  the  darkest  corner 
in  the  heart  of  the  world.  Rays  from  the  bull's- 
eyes  were  thrown  into  every  nook  and  cranny. 
Very  small  laddies  insinuated  themselves  into 
the  narrowest  places.  They  climbed  upon  high 
vaults  and  let  themselves  down  in  last  year's 
burdocks  and  tangled  vines.  It  was  all  done  in 
silence,  only  Mr.  Traill  speaking  at  all.  He  went 
everywhere  with  the  searchers,  and  called: 

"Whaur  are  ye,  Bobby?  Come  awa'  oot, 
laddie!" 

But  no  gleaming  ghost  of  a  tousled  dog  was 

16 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

conjured  by  the  voice  of  affection.  The  tiniest 
scratching  or  lowest  moaning  could  have  been 
heard,  for  the  warm  spring  evening  was  very  still, 
and  there  were,  as  yet,  few  leaves  to  rustle. 
Sleepy  birds  complained  at  being  disturbed  on 
their  perches,  and  rodents  could  be  heard  scam- 
pering along  their  runways.  The  entire  kirkyard 
was  explored,  then  the  interior  of  the  two  kirks. 
Mr.  Traill  went  up  to  the  lodge  for  the  keys,  say- 
ing, optimistically,  that  a  sexton  might  un- 
wittingly have  locked  Bobby  in.  Yonng  men 
with  lanterns  went  through  the  courts  of  the 
tenements,  around  the  Grassmarket,  and  under 
the  arches  of  the  bridge.  Laddies  dropped  from 
the  wall  and  hunted  over  Heriot's  Hospital 
grounds  to  Lauriston  market.  Tammy,  poig- 
nantly conscious  of  being  of  no  practical  use,  sat 
on  Auld  Jock's  grave,  firm  in  the  conviction  that 
Bobby  would  return  to  that  spot  his  ainsel'. 
And  Ailie,  being  only  a  maid,  whose  portion  it 
was  to  wait  and  weep,  lay  across  the  window-sill, 
on  the  pediment  of  the  tomb,  a  limp  little  figure 
of  woe. 

Mr.  Train's  heart  was  full  of  misgiving.  Noth- 
ing but  death  or  stone  walls  could  keep  that 
little  creature  from  this  beloved  grave.  But,  in 
thinking  of  stone  walls,  he  never  once  thought  of 
the  Castle.  Away  over  to  the  east,  in  Broughtoo 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

market,  when  the  garrison  marched  away  and  at 
Lauriston  when  they  returned,  Mr.  Traill  did  not 
know  that  the  soldiers  had  been  out  of  the  city. 
Busy  in  the  lodge  Mistress  Jeanie  had  not  seen 
them  go  by  the  kirkyard,  and  no  one  else,  except 
Mr.  Brown,  knew  the  fascination  that  military 
uniforms,  marching  and  music  had  for  wee  Bobby. 

A  fog  began  to  drift  in  from  the  sea.  Sud- 
denly the  grass  was  sheeted  and  the  tombs 
blurred.  A  curtain  of  gauze  seemed  to  be  hung 
before  the  lighted  tenements.  The  Castle  head 
ranished,  and  the  sounds  of  the  drum  and  bugle 
of  the  tattoo  came  down  muffled,  as  if  through 
layers  of  wool.  The  lights  of  the  bull's-eyes  were 
ruddy  discs  that  cast  no  rays.  Ther  these  were 
•meared  out  to  phosphorescent  glows,  like  the 
"spunkies"  that  everybody  in  Scotland  knew 
came  out  to  dance  in  old  kirkyards. 

It  was  no'  canny.  In  the  smother  of  the  fog 
some  of  the  little  boys  were  lost,  and  cried  out. 
Mr.  Traill  got  them  up  to  the  gate  and  sent  them 
home  in  bands,  under  the  escort  of  the  students. 
Mistress  Jeanie  was  out  by  the  wicket.  Mr. 
Brown  was  asleep,  and  she  "  couldna  thole  it  to 
sit  there  snug."  When  a  fog-horn  moaned  from 
the  Firth  she  broke  into  sobbing.  Mr.  Trail] 
comforted  her  as  best  he  could  by  telling  her  a 
dozen  plans  for  the  morning.  By  feeling  along 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

the  wall  he  got  her  to  the  lodge,  and  himself  up 
to  his  cozy  dining-rooms. 

For  the  first  time  since  Queen  Mary  the  gate 
of  the  historic  garden  of  the  Greyf riars  was  left 
on  the  latch.  And  it  was  so  that  a  little  dog, 
coining  home  in  the  nignt.  might  not  be  shut  out 


IT  was  more  than  two  hours  after  he  left 
Bobby  in  Queen  Margaret's  Chapel  that  the 
sergeant  turned  into  the  officers'  mess-room  and 
tried  to  get  an  orderly  to  take  a  message  to  the 
captain  who  had  noticed  the  little  dog  in  the 
barracks.  He  wished  to  report  that  Bobby 
could  not  be  found,  and  to  be  excused  to  continue 
the  search. 

He  had  to  wait  by  the  door  while  the  toast  to 
her  Majesty  was  proposed  and  the  band  in  the 
screened  gallery  broke  into  "God  Save  the 
Queen" ;  and  when  the  music  stopped  the  band- 
master came  in  for  the  usual  compliments. 

The  evening  was  so  warm  and  still,  although  it 
was  only  mid-April,  that  a  glass  -  paneled  door, 
opening  on  the  terrace,  was  set  ajar  for  air. 
In  the  confusion  of  movement  and  talk  no  one 
noticed  a  little  black  mop  of  a  muzzle  that  was 
poked  through  the  aperture.  From  the  outer 
darkness  Bobby  looked  in  on  the  score  or  more 
of  men  doubtfully,  ready  for  instant  disappear- 
ance on  the  slightest  alarm.  Desperate  was  the 

233 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

emergency,  forlorn  the  hope  that  had  brought 
him  there.  At  every  turn  his  efforts  to  escape 
from  the  Castle  had  been  baffled.  He  had  been 
imprisoned  by  drummer  boys  and  young  re- 
cruits in  the  gymnasium,  detained  in  the  hospital, 
captured  in  the  canteen. 

Bobby  went  through  all  his  pretty  tricks  for 
the  lads,  and  then  begged  to  be  let  go.  Laughed 
at,  romped  with,  dragged  back,  thrown  into  the 
swimming-pool,  expected  to  play  and  perform 
for  them,  he  rebelled  at  last.  He  scarred  the 
door  with  his  claws,  and  he  howled  so  dismally 
that,  hearing  an  orderly  corporal  coming,  they 
turned  him  out  in  a  rough  haste  that  terrified 
him.  In  the  old  Banqueting  Hall  on  the  Palace 
Yard,  that  was  used  as  a  hospital  and  dispensary, 
he  went  through  that  travesty  of  joy  again,  in 
hope  of  the  reward. 

Sharply  rebuked  and  put  out  of  the  hospital, 
at  last,  because  of  his  destructive  clawing  and 
mournful  howling,  Bobby  dashed  across  the 
Palace  Yard  and  into  a  crowd  of  good-humored 
soldiers  who  lounged  in  the  canteen.  Rising  on 
his  hind  legs  to  beg  for  attention  and  indulgence, 
he  was  taken  unaware  from  behind  by  an  ad- 
miring soldier  who  wanted  to  romp  with  him. 
Quite  desperate  by  that  time,  he  snapped  at  the 
hand  of  his  captor  and  sprang  away  into  the  first 

234 


GREYFRIARS   BOBBY 

dark  opening.  Frightened  by  the  man's  cry  of 
pain,  and  by  the  calls  and  scuffling  search  for  him 
without,  he  slunk  to  the  farthest  corner  of  a 
dungeon  of  the  Middle  Ages,  under  the  Royal 
Lodging. 

When  the  hunt  for  him  ceased,  Bobby  slipped 
out  of  hiding  and  made  his  way  around  the 
sickle-shaped  ledge  of  rock,  and  under  the  guns 
of  the  half -moon  battery,  to  the  outer  gate. 
Only  a  cat,  a  fox,  or  a  low,  weasel-like  dog  could 
have  done  it.  There  were  many  details  that 
would  have  enabled  the  observant  little  creature 
to  recognize  this  barrier  as  the  place  where  he 
had  come  in.  Certainly  he  attacked  it  with  fury, 
and  on  the  guards  he  lavished  every  art  of  appeal 
that  he  possessed.  But  there  he  was  bantered, 
and  a  feint  was  made  of  shutting  him  up  in  the 
guard-house  as  a  disorderly  person .  With  a 
heart-broken  cry  he  escaped  his  tormentors,  and 
made  his  way  back,  under  the  guns,  to  the  citadel. 

His  confidence  in  the  good  intentions  of  men 
shaken,  Bobby  took  to  furtive  ways.  Avoiding 
lighted  buildings  and  voices,  he  sped  from  shadow 
to  shadow  and  explored  the  walls  of  solid  ma- 
sonry. Again  and  again  he  returned  to  the  pos- 
tern behind  the  armory,  but  the  small  back  gate 
that  gave  to  the  cliff  was  not  opened.  Once  he 
scrambled  up  to  a  loophole  in  the  fortifications 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

and  looked  abroad  at  the  scattered  lights  of  the 
city  set  in  the  void  of  night.  But  there,  indeed, 
his  stout  heart  failed  him. 

It  was  not  long  before  Bobby  discovered  that 
he  was  being  pursued.  A  number  of  soldiers  and 
drummer  boys  were  out  hunting  for  him,  con- 
tritely enough,  when  the  situation  was  explained 
by  the  angry  sergeant.  Wherever  he  went  voices 
and  footsteps  followed.  Had  the  sergeant  gone 
alone  and  called  in  familiar  speech,  "Come  awa* 
oot,  Bobby!"  he  would  probably  have  run  to  the 
man.  But  there  were  so  many  calls — in  English, 
in  Celtic,  and  in  various  dialects  of  the  Lowlands 
— that  the  little  dog  dared  not  trust  them.  From 
place  to  place  he  was  driven  by  fear,  and  when 
the  calling  stopped  and  the  footsteps  no  longer 
followed,  he  lay  for  a  time  where  he  could  watch 
the  postern.  A  moment  after  he  gave  up  the 
vigil  there  the  little  back  gate  was  opened. 

Desperation  led  him  to  take  another  chance 
with  men.  Slipping  into  the  shadow  of  the  old 
Governor's  House,  the  headquarters  of  commis- 
sioned officers,  on  the  terrace  above  the  barracks, 
he  lay  near  the  open  door  to  the  mess-room,  listen- 
ing and  watching. 

The  pretty  ceremony  of  toasting  the  band- 
master brought  all  the  company  about  the  table 
again,  and  the  polite  pause  in  the  conversation, 

236 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

on  his  exit,  gave  an  opportunity  for  the  captain 
to  speak  of  Bobby  before  the  sergeant  could  get 
his  message  delivered. 

"Gentlemen,  your  indulgence  for  a  moment, 
to  drink  another  toast  to  a  little  dog  that  is  said 
to  have  slept  on  his  master's  grave  in  Greyfriars 
churchyard  for  more  than  eight  years.  Sergeant 
Scott,  of  the  Royal  Engineers,  vouches  for  the 
story  and  will  present  the  hero/' 

The  sergeant  came  forward  then  with  the  word 
that  Bobby  could  not  be  found.  He  was  some- 
where in  the  Castle,  and  had  made  persistent  and 
frantic  efforts  to  get  out.  Prevented  at  every 
turn,  and  forcibly  held  in  various  places  by  well- 
meaning  but  blundering  soldiers,  he  had  been 
frightened  into  hiding. 

Bobby  heard  every  word,  and  he  must  have 
understood  that  he  himself  was  under  discussion. 
Alternately  hopeful  and  apprehensive,  he  scanned 
each  face  in  the  room  that  came  within  range  of 
his  vision,  until  one  arrested  and  drew  him. 
Such  faces,  full  of  understanding,  love  and  com- 
passion for  dumb  animals,  are  to  be  found  among 
men,  women  and  children,  in  any  company  and 
in  every  corner  of  the  world.  Now,  with  the 
dog's  instinct  for  the  dog-lover,  Bobby  made  his 
way  about  the  room  unnoticed,  and  set  his  short, 
shagged  paws  up  on  this  man's  knee. 

237 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

"Bless  my  soul,  gentlemen,  here's  the  little 
dog  now,  and  a  beautiful  specimen  of  the  drop- 
eared  Skye  he  is.  Why  didn't  you  say  that  the 
1  bittie '  dog  was  of  the  Highland  breed,  Sergeant  ? 
You  may  well  believe  any  extravagant  tale  you 
may  hear  of  the  fidelity  and  affection  of  the  Skye 
terrier." 

And  with  that  wee  Bobby  was  set  upon  the 
polished  table,  his  own  silver  image  glimmering 
among  the  reflections  of  candles  and  old  plate. 
He  kept  close  under  the  hand  of  his  protector,  but 
waiting  for  the  moment  favorable  to  his  appeal. 
The  company  crowded  around  with  eager  interest, 
while  the  man  of  expert  knowledge  and  love  of 
dogs  talked  about  Bobby. 

"You  see  he's  a  well-knit  little  rascal,  long  and 
low,  hardy  and  strong.  His  ancestors  were  bred 
for  bolting  foxes  and  wildcats  among  the  rocky 
headlands  of  the  subarctic  islands.  The  intelli- 
gence, courage  and  devotion  of  dogs  of  this 
breed  can  scarcely  be  overstated.  There  is  some 
far-away  crossing  here  that  gives  this  one  a 
greater  beauty  and  grace  and  more  engaging 
manners,  making  him  a  'sport'  among  rough 
farm  dogs — but  look  at  the  length  and  strength 
of  the  muzzle.  He's  as  determined  as  the  deil. 
You  would  have  to  break  his  neck  before  you 
could  break  his  purpose.  For  love  of  his  master 

238 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

he  would  starve,  or  he  would  leap  to  his  death 
without  an  instant's  hesitation." 

All  this  time  the  man  had  been  stroking 
Bobby's  head  and  neck.  Now,  feeling  the  collar 
under  the  thatch,  he  slipped  it  out  and  brought 
the  brass  plate  up  to  the  light. 

"Propose  your  toast  to  Greyfriars  Bobby, 
Captain.  His  story  is  vouched  for  by  no  less 
a  person  than  the  Lord  Provost.  The  'bittie* 
dog  seems  to  have  won  a  sort  of  canine  Victoria 
Cross." 

The  toast  was  drunk  standing,  and  a  cheer 
given.  The  company  pressed  close  to  examine 
the  collar  and  to  shake  Bobby's  lifted  paw. 
Then,  thinking  the  moment  had  come,  Bobby 
rose  in  the  begging  attitude,  prostrated  himself 
before  them,  and  uttered  a  pleading  cry.  His 
new  friend  assured  him  that  he  would  be  taken 
home. 

"Bide  a  wee,  Bobby.  Before  he  goes  I  want 
you  all  to  see  his  beautiful  eyes.  In  most  breeds 
of  dogs  with  the  veil  you  will  find  the  hairs  of  the 
face  discolored  by  tears,  but  the  Skye  terrier's 
are  not,  and  his  eyes  are  living  jewels,  as  sunny 
a  brown  as  cairngorms  in  pebble  brooches,  but 
soft  and  deep  and  with  an  almost  human 
intelligence." 

For  the  third  time  that  day  Bobby's  veil  was 
239 


UREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

pushed  back.  One  shocked  look  by  this  lover  of 
dogs,  and  it  was  dropped. 

"Get  him  back  to  that  grave,  man,  or  he's 
like  to  die.  His  eyes  are  just  two  cairngorms  of 
grief." 

In  the  hush  that  fell  upon  the  company  the 
senior  officer  spoke  sharply:  "Take  him  down 
at  once,  Sergeant.  The  whole  affair  is  most  un- 
fortunate, and  you  will  please  tender  my  apolo- 
gies at  the  churchyard  and  the  restaurant,  as 
well  as  your  own,  and  I  will  see  the  Lord 
Provost." 

The  military  salute  was  given  to  Bobby  when 
he  leaped  from  the  table  at  the  sergeant's  call: 
"Come  awa',  Bobby.  I'll  tak'  ye  to  Auld  Jock 
i'  the  kirkyaird  noo." 

He  stepped  out  onto  the  lawn  to  wait  for  his 
pass.  Bobby  stood  at  his  feet,  quivering  with 
impatience  to  be  off,  but  trusting  in  the  man's 
given  word.  The  upper  air  was  clear,  and  the 
sky  studded  with  stars.  Twenty  minutes  be- 
fore the  May  Light,  that  guided  the  ships  into 
the  Firth,  could  be  seen  far  out  on  the  edge  of 
the  ocean,  and  in  every  direction  the  lamps  of 
the  city  seemed  to  fall  away  in  a  shower  of  sparks, 
as  from  a  burst  meteor.  But  now,  while  the 
stars  above  were  as  numerous  and  as  brilliant 
as  before,  the  lights  below  had  vanished.  As 

240 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

the  sergeant  looked,  the  highest  ones  expired  in 
the  rising  fog.  The  Island  Rock  appeared  to  be 
sinking  in  a  waveless  sea  of  milk. 

A  startled  exclamation  from  the  sergeant 
brought  other  men  out  on  the  terrace  to  see  it. 
The  senior  officer  withheld  the  pass  in  his  hand, 
and  scouted  the  idea  of  the  sergeant's  going 
down  into  the  city.  As  the  drum  began  to  beat 
the  tattoo  and  the  bugle  to  rise  on  a  crescendo  of 
lovely  notes,  soldiers  swarmed  toward  the  bar- 
racks. Those  who  had  been  out  in  the  town 
came  running  up  the  roadway  into  the  Castle, 
talking  loudly  of  adventures  they  had  had  in 
the  fog.  The  sergeant  looked  down  at  anxious 
Bobby,  who  stood  agitated  and  straining  as  at  a 
leash,  and  said  that  he  preferred  to  go. 

''Impossible!  A  foolish  risk,  Sergeant,  that  I 
am  unwilling  you  should  take.  Edinburgh  is  too 
full  of  pitfalls  for  a  man  to  be  going  about  on 
such  a  night.  Our  guests  will  sleep  in  the  Castle, 
and  it  will  be  safer  for  the  little  dog  to  remain 
until  morning." 

Bobby  did  not  quite  understand  this  good 
English,  but  the  excited  talk  and  the  delay 
made  him  uneasy.  He  whimpered  piteously.  He 
lay  across  the  sergeant's  feet,  and  through  his 
boots  the  man  could  feel  the  little  creature's 
heart  beat.  Then  he  rose  and  uttered  his  plead- 

241 


GREYFRIARS   BOBBY 

ing  cry.  The  sergeant  stooped  and  patted  the 
shaggy  head  consolingly,  and  tried  to  explain 
matters. 

"Be  a  gude  doggie  noo.  Dinna  fash  yersel' 
aboot  what  canna  be  helped.  I  canna  tak'  ye  to 
the  kirkyaird  the  nicht." 

"I'll  take  charge  of  Bobby,  Sergeant."  The 
dog-loving  guest  ran  out  hastily,  but,  with  a  wild 
cry  of  reproach  and  despair,  Bobby  was  gone. 

The  group  of  soldiers  who  had  been  out  on 
the  cliff  were  standing  in  the  postern  a  moment 
to  look  down  at  the  opaque  flood  that  was  rising 
around  the  rock.  They  felt  some  flying  thing 
sweep  over  their  feet  and  caught  a  silvery  flash 
of  it  across  the  promenade.  The  sergeant  cried 
to  them  to  stop  the  dog,  and  he  and  the  guest 
were  out  in  time  to  see  Bobby  go  over  the 
precipice. 

For  a  time  the  little  dog  lay  in  a  clump  of 
hazel  above  the  fog,  between  two  terrors.  He 
could  see  the  men  and  the  lights  moving  along 
the  top  of  the  cliff,  and  he  could  hear  the  calls. 
Some  one  caught  a  glimpse  of  him,  and  the 
sergeant  lay  down  on  the  edge  of  the  precipice 
and  talked  to  him,  saying  every  kind  and  foolish 
thing  he  could  think  of  to  persuade  Bobby  to 
come  back.  Then  a  drummer  boy  was  tied  to  a 
rope  and  let  down  to  the  ledge  to  fetch  him  uj> 

24* 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

But  at  that,  without  any  sound  at  all,  Bobby 
dropped  out  of  sight. 

Through  the  smother  came  the  loud  moaning 
of  fog-horns  in  the  Firth.  Although  nothing 
could  be  seen,  and  sounds  were  muffled  as  if  the 
ears  of  the  world  were  stuffed  with  wool,  odors 
were  held  captive  and  mingled  in  confusion. 
There  was  nothing  to  guide  a  little  dog's  nose, 
everything  to  make  him  distrust  his  most  re- 
liable sense.  The  smell  of  every  plant  on  the 
crag  was  there;  the  odors  of  leather,  of  paint,  of 
wood,  of  iron,  from  the  crafts  shops  at  the  base. 
Smoke  from  chimneys  in  the  valley  was  mixed 
with  the  strong  scent  of  horses,  hay  and  grain 
from  the  street  of  King's  Stables.  There  was  the 
smell  of  furry  rodents,  of  nesting  birds,  of  gushing 
springs,  of  the  earth  itself,  and  something  more 
ancient  still,  as  of  burned-out  fires  in  the  *iuge 
mass  of  trap-rock. 

Everything  warned  Bobby  to  lie  still  in  safety 
until  morning  and  the  world  was  restored  to  its 
normal  aspects.  But  ah !  in  the  highest  type  of 
man  and  dog,  self-sacrifice,  and  not  self-preserva- 
tion, is  the  first  law.  A  deserted  grave  cried  to 
him  across  the  void,  the  anguish  of  protecting 
love  urged  him  on  to  take  perilous  chances. 
Falling  upon  a  narrow  shelf  of  rock,  he  had 
bounded  off  and  into  a  thicket  of  thorns.  Bruised 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

And  shaken  and  bewildered,  he  lay  there  for  a 
time  and  tried  to  get  his  bearings. 

Bobby  knew  only  that  the  way  was  downward. 
He  put  out  a  paw  and  felt  for  the  edge  of  the 
shelf.  A  thorn  bush  rooted  below  tickled  his 
nose.  He  dropped  into  that  and  scrambled  out 
again.  Loose  earth  broke  under  his  struggles 
and  carried  him  swiftly  down  to  a  new  level. 
He  slipped  in  the  wet  moss  of  a  spring  before  he 
heard  the  tinkle  of  the  water,  lost  his  foothold, 
and  fell  against  a  sharp  point  of  rock.  The 
shadowy  spire  of  a  fir-tree  looming  in  a  parting 
of  the  vapor  for  an  instant,  Bobby  leaped  to  the 
ledge  upon  which  it  was  rooted. 

Foot  by  foot  he  went  down,  with  no  guidance 
at  all.  It  is  the  nature  of  such  long,  low,  earth 
dogs  to  go  by  leaps  and  bounds  like  foxes,  calcu- 
lating distances  nicely  when  they  can  see,  and 
tearing  across  the  roughest  country  with  the 
speed  of  the  wild  animals  they  hunt.  And  where 
the  way  is  very  steep  they  can  scramble  up  or 
down  any  declivity  that  is  at  a  lesser  angle  than 
the  perpendicular.  Head  first  they  go  down- 
ward, setting  the  fore  paws  forward,  the  claws 
clutching  around  projections  and  in  fissures,  the 
weight  hung  from  the  stout  hind  quarters,  the 
body  flattened  on  the  earth. 

Thus  Bobby  crept  down  steep  descents  in  safety, 
244 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

but  his  claws  were  broken  in  crevices  and  his  feet 
were  torn  and  pierced  by  splinters  of  rock  and 
thorns.  Once  he  went  some  distance  into  a  cave 
and  had  to  back  up  and  out  again.  And  then 
a  promising  slope  shelving  under  suddenly,  where 
he  could  not  retreat,  he  leaped,  turned  over  and 
over  in  the  air,  and  fell  stunned.  His  heart  filled 
with  fear  of  the  unseen  before  him,  the  little 
dog  lay  for  a  long  time  in  a  clump  of  whins.  He 
may  even  have  dozed  and  dreamed,  to  be  awak- 
ened with  starts  by  his  misery  of  longing,  and 
once  by  the  far-away  barking  of  a  dog.  It  came 
up  deadened,  as  if  from  fathoms  below.  He 
stood  up  and  listened,  but  the  sound  was  not 
repeated.  His  lacerated  feet  burned  and  throb- 
bed ;  his  bruised  muscles  had  begun  to  stiffen,  so 
that  every  movement  was  a  pain. 

In  these  lower  levels  there  was  more  smoke, 
that  smeared  out  and  thickened  the  mist.  Sud- 
denly a  breath  of  air  parted  the  fog  as  if  it  were 
a  torn  curtain.  Like  a  shot  Bobby  went  down 
the  crag,  leaping  from  rock  to  rock,  scrambling 
under  thorns  and  hazel  shrubs,  dropping  over 
precipitous  ledges,  until  he  looked  down  a  sheer 
fall  on  which  not  even  a  knot  of  grass  could  find 
a  foothold.  He  took  the  leap  instantly,  and  his 
thick  fleece  saved  him  from  broken  bones;  but 
When  he  tried  to  get  up  again  hfs  body  was 

17  245 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

racked  with  pain  and  his  hind  legs  refused  to 
serve  him. 

Turning  swiftly,  he  snarled  and  bit  at  them  in 
angry  disbelief  that  his  good  little  legs  should 
play  false  with  his  stout  heart.  Then  he  quite 
forgot  his  pain,  for  there  was  the  sharp  ring  of 
iron  on  an  anvil  and  the  dull  glow  of  a  forge 
fire,  where  a  smith  was  toiling  in  the  early  hours 
of  the  morning.  A  clever  and  resourceful  little 
dog,  Bobby  made  shift  to  do  without  legs. 
Turning  on  his  side,  he  rolled  down  the  last  slope 
of  Castle  Rock.  Crawling  between  two  buildings 
and  dropping  from  the  terrace  on  which  they 
stood,  he  fell  into  a  little  street  at  the  west  end 
and  above  the  Grassmarket. 

Here  the  odors  were  all  of  the  stables.  He 
knew  the  way,  and  that  it  was  still  downward. 
The  distance  he  had  to  go  was  a  matter  of  a 
quarter  of  a  mile,  or  less,  and  the  greater  part  of 
it  was  on  the  level,  through  the  sunken  valley  of 
the  Grassmarket.  But  Bobby  had  literally  to 
drag  himself  now ;  and  he  had  still  to  pull  him- 
self up  by  his  fore  paws  over  the  wet  and  greasy 
cobblestones  of  Candlemakers  Row.  Had  not 
the  great  leaves  of  the  gate  to  the  kirkyard 
been  left  on  the  latch,  he  would  have  had  to  lie 
there  in  the  alcove,  with  his  nose  under  the  bars, 
until  morning.  But  the  gate  gave  way  to  his 

246 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

push,  and  so,  he  dragged  himself  through  it  and 
around  the  kirk,  and  stretched  himself  on  Auld 
Jock's  grave. 

It  was  the  birds  that  found  him  there  in  the 
misty  dawn.  They  were  used  to  seeing  Bobby 
scampering  about,  for  the  little  watchman  was 
awake  and  busy  as  early  as  the  feathered  dwellers 
in  the  kirkyard.  But,  in  what  looked  to  be  a 
wet  and  furry  door-mat  left  out  overnight  on 
the  grass,  they  did  not  know  him  at  all.  The 
throstles  and  skylarks  were  shy  of  it,  thinking  it 
might  be  alive.  The  wrens  fluffed  themselves, 
scolded  it,  and  told  it  to  get  up.  The  blue  tit- 
mice flew  over  it  in  a  flock  again  and  again,  with 
much  sweet  gossiping,  but  they  did  not  venture 
nearer.  A  redbreast  lighted  on  the  rose  bush 
that  marked  Auld  Jock's  grave,  cocked  its  head 
knowingly,  and  warbled  a  little  song,  as  much  as 
to  say:  "If  it's  alive  that  will  wake  it  up." 

As  Bobby  did  not  stir,  the  robin  fluttered 
down,  studied  him  from  all  sides,  made  polite 
inquiries  that  were  not  answered,  and  concluded 
that  it  would  be  quite  safe  to  take  a  silver  hair 
for  nest  lining.  Then,  startled  by  the  animal 
warmth  or  by  a  faint,  breathing  movement,  it 
dropped  the  shining  trophy  and  flew  away  in  a 
shrill  panic.  At  that,  all  the  birds  set  up  such 
*n  excited  crying  that  they  waked  Tammy. 

247 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

From  the  rude  loophole  of  a  window  that 
projected  from  the  old  Cunzie  Neuk,  the  crippled 
laddie  could  see  only  the  shadowy  tombs  and  the 
long  gray  wall  of  the  two  kirks,  through  the  sunny 
haze.  But  he  dropped  his  crutches  over,  and 
climbed  out  onto  the  vault.  Never  before  had 
Bobby  failed  to  hear  that  well-known  tap-tap- 
tapping  on  the  graveled  path,  nor  failed  to  trot 
down  to  meet  it  with  friskings  of  welcome.  But 
now  he  lay  very  still,  even  when  a  pair  of  frail 
arms  tried  to  lift  his  dead  weight  to  a  heaving 
breast,  and  Tammy's  cry  of  woe  rang  through 
the  kirkyard.  In  a  moment  Ailie  and  Mistress 
Jeanie  were  in  the  wet  grass  beside  them,  half  a 
hundred  casements  flew  open,  and  the  piping 
voices  of  tenement  bairns  cried  down: 

"Did  the  bittie  doggie  come  hame?" 

Oh  yes,  the  bittie  doggie  had  come  hame,  in- 
deed, but  down  such  perilous  heights  as  none  of 
them  d'  earned ;  and  now  in  what  a  woeful  plight ! 

Some  murmur  of  the  excitement  reached  an 
open  dormer  of  the  Temple  tenements,  where 
Geordie  Ross  had  slept  with  one  ear  of  the  born 
doctor  open.  Snatching  up  a  case  of  first  aids 
to  the  injured,  he  ran  down  the  twisting  stairs  to 
the  Grassmarket,  up  to  the  gate,  and  around  the 
kirk,  to  find  a  huddled  group  of  women  and 
children  weeping  over  a  limp  little  bundle  of  a 

248 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

senseless  dog.  He  thrust  a  bottle  of  hartshorn 
tinder  the  black  muzzle,  and  with  a  start  and  a 
moan  Bobby  came  back  to  consciousness. 

"Lay  him  down  flat  and  stop  your  havers," 
ordered  the  business-like,  embryo  medicine  man. 
"Bobby's  no'  dead.  Laddie,  you're  a  braw 
soldier  for  holding  your  ain  feelings,  so  just  hold 
the  wee  dog's  head."  Then,  in  the  reassuring 
dialect:  "Hoots,  Bobby,  open  the  bit  mou*  noo, 
an'  tak'  the  medicine  like  a  mannie  I"  Down  the 
tiny  red  cavern  of  a  throat  Geordie  poured  a  dose 
that  galvanized  the  small  creature  into  life. 

"Noo,  then,  loup,  ye  bonny  rascal!" 

Bobby  did  his  best  to  jump  at  Geordie's  bid- 
ding. He  was  so  glad  to  be  at  home  and  to  see 
all  these  familiar  faces  of  love  that  he  lifted  him- 
self on  his  fore  paws,  and  his  happy  heart  almost 
put  the  power  to  loup  into  his  hind  legs.  But 
when  he  tried  to  stand  up  he  cried  out  with  the 
pains  and  sank  down  again,  with  an  apologetic 
and  shamefaced  look  that  was  worthy  of  Auld 
Jock  himself.  Geordie  sobered  on  the  instant. 

"  Weel,  now,  he's  been  hurt.  We'll  just  have 
to  see  what  ails  the  sonsie  doggie."  He  ran  his 
hand  down  the  parting  in  the  thatch  to  discover 
if  the  spine  had  been  injured.  When  he  sud- 
denly pinched  the  ball  of  a  hind  toe  Bobby 
promptly  resented  it  by  jerking  his  head  around 

249 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

and  looking  at  him  reproachfully.  The  bairns 
were  indignant,  too,  but  Geordie  grinned  cheer- 
fully and  said :  ' '  He's  no'  paralyzed,  at  ony  rate." 
He  turned  as  footsteps  were  heard  coming  hastily 
around  the  kirk. 

"A  gude  morning  to  you,  Mr.  Traill.  Bobby 
may  have  been  run  over  by  a  cart  and  got  in- 
ternal injuries,  but  I'm  thinking  it's  just  sprains 
and  bruises  from  a  bad  fall.  He  was  in  a  state 
of  collapse,  and  his  claws  are  as  broken  and  his 
toes  as  torn  as  if  he  had  come  down  Castle 
Rock." 

This  was  such  an  extravagant  surmise  that 
even  the  anxious  landlord  smiled.  Then  he  said, 
drily: 

"You're  a  braw  laddie,  Geordie,  and  gude- 
hearted,  but  you're  no'  a  doctor  yet,  and,  with 
your  leave,  I'll  have  my  ain  medical  man  tak' 
a  look  at  Bobby." 

"Ay,  I  would,"  Geordie  agreed,  cordially. 
"It's  worth  four  shullings  to  have  your  mind  at 
ease,  man.  I'll  just  go  up  to  the  lodge  and  get 
a  warm  bath  ready,  to  tak'  the  stiffness  out  of  his 
muscles,  and  brew  a  tea  from  an  herb  that  wee 
wild  creatures  know  all  about  and  aye  hunt  for 
when  they're  ailing." 

Geordie  went  away  gaily,  to  take  disorder  and 
evil  smells  into  Mistress  Jeanie's  shining  kitchen. 

250 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

No  sooner  had  the  medical  student  gone  up  to  the 
lodge,  and  the  children  had  been  persuaded  to 
go  home  to  watch  the  proceedings  anxiously 
from  the  amphitheater  of  the  tenement  windows, 
than  the  kirkyard  gate  was  slammed  back  noisily 
by  a  man  in  a  hurry.  It  was  the  sergeant  who, 
in  the  splendor  of  full  uniform,  dropped  in  the 
wet  grass  beside  Bobby. 

"Losh!  The  sma'  dog  got  hame,  an*  is  still 
leevin'.  Noo,  God  forgie  me~" 

"Eh,  man,  what  had  you  to  do  with  Bobby's 
misadventure  ?" 

Mr.  Traill  fixed  an  accusing  eye  on  the  soldier, 
remembering  suddenly  his  laughing  threat  to 
kidnap  Bobby.  The  story  came  out  in  a  flood  of 
remorseful  words,  from  Bobby's  following  of  the 
troops  so  gaily  into  the  Castle  to  his  desperate 
escape  over  the  precipice. 

"Noo,"  he  said,  humbly,  "gin  it  wad  be  ony 
satisfaction  to  ye,  I'll  gang  up  to  the  Castle  an* 
put  on  fatigue-dress,  no'  to  disgrace  the  unifarm 
o'  her  Maijesty,  an'  let  ye  tak'  me  oot  on  the 
Burghmuir  an'  gie  me  a  gude  lickin'." 

Mr.  Traill  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Naething 
would  satisfy  me,  man,  but  to  get  behind  you  and 
kick  you  over  the  Firth  into  the  Kingdom  of 
Fife." 

He  turned  an  angry  back  on  the  sergeant  and 
25* 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

helped  Geordie  lift  Bobby  onto  Mrs.  Brown's 
braided  hearth-rug  and  carry  the  improvised  lit- 
ter up  to  the  lodge.  In  the  kitchen  the  little  dog 
was  lowered  into  a  hot  bath,  dried,  and  rubbed 
with  liniments  under  his  fleece.  After  his  lacer- 
ated feet  had  been  cleaned  and  dressed  with  heal- 
ing ointments  and  tied  up,  Bobby  was  wrapped 
in  Mistress  Jeanie's  best  flannel  petticoat  and 
laid  on  the  hearth-rug,  a  very  comfortable  wee 
dog,  who  enjoyed  his  breakfast  of  broth  and 
porridge. 

Mr.  Brown,  hearing  the  commotion  and  perish- 
ing of  curiosity,  demanded  that  some  one  should 
come  and  help  him  out  of  bed.  As  no  attention 
was  paid  to  him  he  managed  to  get  up  himself 
and  to  hobble  out  to  the  kitchen  just  as  Mr. 
Traill's  ain  medical  man  came  in.  Bobby's 
spine  was  examined  again,  the  tail  and  toes 
nipped,  the  heart  tested,  and  all  the  soft  parts 
of  his  body  pressed  and  punched,  in  spite  of  the 
little  dog's  vigorous  objections  to  these  in- 
dignities. 

"Except  for  sprains  and  bruises  the  wee  dog 
is  all  right.  Came  down  Castle  Crag  in  the  fog, 
did  he?  He's  a  clever  and  plucky  little  chap, 
indeed,  and  deserving  of  a  hero  medal  to  hang  on 
the  Lord  Provost's  collar.  You've  done  very 
well,  Mr.  Ross.  Just  take  as  good  care  of  him 

•ft* 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

for  a  week  or  so  and  he  could  do  the  gallant  deed 
again." 

Mr.  Brown  listened  to  the  story  of  Bobby's 
adventures  with  a  mingled  look  of  disgust  at  tha 
foolishness  of  men,  pride  in  Bobby's  prowess, 
and  resentment  at  having  been  left  out  of  the 
drama  of  the  night  before.  "It's  maist  michty, 
noo,  Maister  Traill,  that  ye  wad  tak'  the  leeberty 
o*  leein'  to  me,"  he  complained. 

' '  It  was  a  gude  lee  or  a  bad  nicht  for  an  ill  man. 
Geordie  will  tell  you  that  a  mind  at  ease  is  worth 
four  shullings,  and  I'm  charging  you  naething. 
Eh,  man,  you're  deeficult  to  please."  As  he  went 
out  into  the  kirkyard  Mr.  Traill  stopped  to  reflect 
on  a  strange  thing:  "'You've  done  very  well, 
Mr.  Ross/  Weel,  weel,  how  the  laddies  do  grow 
up !  But  I'm  no'  going  to  admit  it  to  Geordie." 

Another  thought,  over  which  he  chuckled,  sent 
him  off  to  find  the  sergeant.  The  soldier  was 
tramping  gloomily  about  in  the  wet,  to  the 
demoralization  of  his  beautiful  boots. 

"Man,  since  a  stormy  nicht  eight  years  ago 
last  November  I've  aye  been  looking  for  a  bigger 
weel-meaning  fule  than  my  ain  sel*.  You're  the 
man,  so  if  you'll  just  shak'  hands  we'll  say  nae 
more  about  it." 

He  did  not  explain  this  cryptic  remark,  but  he 
went  on  to  assure  the  sorry  soldier  that  Bobby 

a53 


GREYFRIARS   BOBBY 

had  got  no  serious  hurt  and  would  soon  be  as 
well  as  ever.  They  had  turned  toward  the  gate 
when  a  stranger  with  a  newspaper  in  his  hand 
peered  mildly  around  the  kirk  and  inquired: 
"Do  ye  ken  wrhaur's  the  sma'  dog,  man?"  As 
Mr.  Traill  continued  to  stare  at  him  he  explained, 
patiently:  "It's  Greyfriars  Bobby,  the  bittie 
terrier  the  Laird  Provost  gied  the  collar  to.  Hac 
ye  no*  seen  The  Scotsman  the  day?" 

The  landlord  had  not.  And  there  was  the 
story,  Bobby's  name  heading  quite  a  quarter  of 
a  broad  column  of  fine  print,  and  beginning  with: 
"A  very  singular  and  interesting  occurrence  was 
brought  to  light  in  the  Burgh  court  by  the  hearing 
of  a  summons  in  regard  to  a  dog  tax."  Bobby 
was  a  famous  dog,  and  Mr.  Traill  came  in  for  a 
goodly  portion  of  reflected  glory.  He  threw  up 
his  hands  in  dismay. 

"It's  all  over  the  toon,  Sergeant."  Turning 
to  the  stranger,  he  assured  him  that  Bobby  was 
not  to  be  seen.  "He  hurt  himser  coming  down 
Castle  Rock  in  the  nicht,  and  is  in  the  lodge  with 
the  caretaker,  wha's  fair  ill.  Hoo  do  I  ken?" 
testily.  "Wee',  man,  I'm  Mr.  Traill." 

He  saw  at  once  how  unwise  was  that  admis- 
sion, for  he  had  to  shake  hands  with  the  cordial 
stranger.  And  after  dismissing  him  there  was 
another  at  the  gate  who  insisted  upon  going  up 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

to  the  lodge  to  see  the  little  hero.  Here  was  a 
state  of  things,  indeed,  that  called  upon  all  the 
powers  of  the  resourceful  landlord. 

"All  the  folk  in  Edinburgh  will  be  coming,  and 
the  poor  woman  be  deaved  with  their  spiering." 
And  then  he  began  to  laugh.  "Did  you  ever 
hear  o'  sic  a  thing  as  poetic  justice,  Sergeant? 
Nae,  it's  no*  the  kind  you'll  get  in  the  courts  of 
law.  Weel,  it's  poetic  justice  for  a  birkie  soldier, 
wha  claims  the  airth  and  the  fullness  thereof,  to 
have  to  tak'  his  orders  from  a  sma'  shopkeeper. 
Go  up  to  the  police  office  in  St.  Giles  now  and  ask 
for  an  officer  to  stand  at  the  gate  here  to  answer 
queistions,  and  to  keep  the  folk  awa*  from  the 
lodge." 

He  stood  guard  himself,  and  satisfied  a  score  of 
visitors  before  the  sergeant  came  back,  and  there 
was  another  instance  of  poetic  justice,  in  the 
crestfallen  Burgh  policeman  who  had  been  sent 
with  instructions  to  take  his  orders  from  the 
delighted  landlord. 

"Eh,  Da  vie,  it's  a  lang  lane  that  has  nae  turn- 
ing. Ye' re  juist  to  stand  here  a*  the  day  an' 
say  to  ilka  body  wha  spiers  for  the  dog:  'Ay,  sir, 
Greyfriars  Bobby's  been  leevin'  i'  the  kirkyaird 
aucht  years  an'  mair,  an*  Maister  Train's  aye 
fed  'im  i*  the  dining-rooms.  Ay,  the  case  was 
dismissed  i'  the  Burgh  coort.  The  Laird  Provost 

255 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

gied  a  collar  to  the  bit  Skye  because  there's  a 
meddlin'  fule  or  twa  amang  the  Burgh  police 
wha'd  be  takin'  'im  up.  The  doggie's  i'  the 
lodge  wi'  the  caretaker,  wha's  fair  ill,  an*  he 
canna  be  seen  the  day.  But  gang  aroond  the 
kirk  an*  ye  can  see  Auld  Jock's  grave  that  he's 
aye  guarded.  There's  nae  stane  to  it,  but  it's 
neist  to  the  fa* en  table-tomb  o'  Mistress  Jean 
Grant.  A  gude  day  to  ye.'  Hae  ye  got  a'  that, 
man  ?  Weel,  cheer  up.  Ye'll  hae  to  say  it  nae 
mair  than  a  thousand  times  or  twa  atween  noo 
an'  nichtfa'." 

He  went  away  laughing  at  the  penance  that 
was  laid  upon  his  foe.  The  landlord  felt  so  well 
satisfied  with  the  world  that  he  took  another 
jaunty  crack  at  the  sergeant:  "By  richts,  man, 
you  ought  to  go  to  gaol,  but  I'll  just  fine  you  a 
shulling  a  month  for  Bobby's  natural  lifetime,  ta 
give  the  wee  soldier  a  treat  of  .a  steak  or  a  chop 
once  a  week." 

Hands  were  struck  heartily  on  the  bargain,  and 
the  two  men  parted  good  friends.  Now,  finding 
Ailie  dropping  tears  in  the  dish-water,  Mr.  Traill 
sent  her  flying  down  to  the  lodge  with  instructions 
to  make  herself  useful  to  Mrs.  Brown.  Then  he 
was  himself  besieged  in  his  place  of  business  by 
folk  of  high  and  low  degree  who  were  disap- 
pointed by  their  failure  to  see  Bobby  in  tha 

256 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

kirkyard.  Greyfriars  Dining-Rooms  had  more 
distinguished  visitors  in  a  day  than  they  had  had 
in  all  the  years  since  Auld  Jock  died  and  a  little 
dog  fell  there  at  the  landlord's  feet  "a'  but  deid 
wi'  hunger." 

Not  one  of  all  the  grand  folk  who  inquired 
for  Bobby  at  the  kirkyard  or  at  the  restaurant 
got  a  glimpse  of  him  that  day.  But  after  they 
were  gone  the  tenement  dwellers  came  up  to  the 
gate  again,  as  they  had  g  fchered  the  evening 
before,  and  begged  that  th  -y  might  just  tak'  a 
look  at  him  and  his  braw  collar. 

"The  bonny  bit  is  the  bairns*  ain  doggie,  an* 
the  Laird  Provost  himsel'  told  'em  he  wasna  to  be 
neglectet,"  was  one  mother's  plea. 

Ah!  that  was  very  true.  To  the  grand  folk 
who  had  come  to  see  him,  Bobby  was  only  a 
nine-days'  wonder.  His  story  had  touched  the 
hearts  of  all  orders  of  society.  For  a  time 
strangers  would  come  to  see  him,  and  then  they 
would  forget  all  about  him  or  remember  him 
only  fitfully.  It  was  to  these  poor  people  around 
the  kirkyard,  themselves  forgotten  by  the  more 
fortunate,  that  the  little  dog  must  look  for  his 
daily  meed  of  affection  and  companionship.  Mr. 
Traill  spoke  to  them  kindly. 

"Bide  a  wee,  noo,  an*  I'll  fetch  the  doggie 
doon." 

257 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

Bobby  had  slept  blissfully  nearly  all  the  day, 
after  his  exhausting  labors  and  torturing  pains. 
But  with  the  sunset  bugle  he  fretted  to  be  let  out. 
Ailie  had  wept  and  pleaded,  Mrs.  Brown  had 
reasoned  with  him,  and  Mr.  Brown  had  scolded, 
all  to  the  end  of  persuading  him  to  sleep  in  "the 
hoose  the  nicht . "  But  when  no  one  was  watching 
him  Bobby  crawled  from  his  rug  and  dragged 
himself  to  the  door.  He  rapped  the  floor  with 
his  tail  in  delight  when  Mr.  Traill  came  in  and 
bundled  him  up  on  the  rug,  so  he  could  lie  easily, 
and  carried  him  down  to  the  gate. 

For  quite  twenty  minutes  these  neighbors  and 
friends  of  Bobby  filed  by  silently,  patted  the 
shaggy  little  head,  looked  at  the  grand  plate  with 
Bobby's  and  the  Lord  Provost's  names  upon  it, 
and  believed  their  own  wondering  een.  Bobby 
wagged  his  tail  and  lolled  his  tongue,  and  now 
and  then  he  licked  the  hand  of  a  baby  who  had 
to  be  lifted  by  a  tall  brother  to  see  him.  Shy 
kisses  were  dropped  on  Bobby's  head  by  toddling 
bairns,  and  awkward  caresses  by  rough  laddies. 
Then  they  all  went  home  quietly,  and  Mr.  Traill 
carried  the  little  dog  around  the  kirk. 

And  there,  ah!  so  belated,  Auld  Jock's  grave 
bore  its  tribute  of  flowers.  Wreaths  and  nose- 
gays, potted  daffodils  and  primroses  and  daisies, 
covered  the  sunken  mound  so  that  some  of  them 

'53 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

had  to  be  moved  to  make  room  for  Bobby.  H& 
sniffed  and  sniffed  at  them,  looked  up  inquiringly 
at  Mr.  Traill,  and  then  snuggled  down  contentedly 
among  the  blossoms.  He  did  not  understand 
their  being  there  any  more  than  he  understood 
the  collar  about  which  everybody  made  such  a 
to-do.  The  narrow  band  of  leather  would  dis- 
appear under  his  thatch  again,  and  would  be  un- 
noticed by  the  casual  passer-by;  the  flowers 
would  fade  and  never  be  so  lavishly  renewed; 
but  there  was  another  more  wonderful  gift,  now, 
that  would  never  fail  him. 

At  nightfall,  before  the  drum  and  bugle  sounded 
the  tattoo  to  call  the  scattered  garrison  in 
the  Castle,  there  took  place  a  loving  ceremony 
that  was  never  afterward  omitted  as  long  as 
Bobby  lived.  Every  child  newly  come  to  the 
tenements  learned  it,  every  weanie  lisped  it 
among  his  first  words.  Before  going  to  bed  each 
bairn  opened  a  casement.  Sometimes  a  candle 
was  held  up — a  little  star  of  love,  glimmering  for 
a  moment  on  the  dark;  but  always  there  was  a 
small  face  peering  into  the  melancholy  kirkyard. 
In  midsummer,  and  at  other  seasons  if  the  moon 
rose  full  and  early  and  the  sky  was  clear,  Bobby 
could  be  seen  on  the  grave.  And  when  he  re- 
covered from  these  hurts  he  trotted  about,  mak- 
ing the  circuit  below  the  windows. 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

He  could  not  speak  there,  because  he  had  been 
forbidden,  but  he  could  wag  his  tail  and  look  up 
to  show  his  friendliness.  And  whether  the  chil- 
dren saw  him  or  not  they  knew  he  was  always 
there  after  sunset,  keeping  watch  and  ward,  and 
"lanely"  because  his  master  had  gone  away  to 
heaven;  and  so  they  called  out  to  him  sweetly 
and  clearly : 

"A  gude  nicht  to  ye,  Bobby." 


XTI 

IN  one  thing  Mr.  Traill  had  been  mistaken, 
the  grand  folk  did  not  forget   Bobby.     At 
the  end  of  five  years  the  leal  Highlander  was  not 
only  still  remembered,  but  he  had  become  a  local 
celebrity. 

Had  the  grave  of  his  haunting  been  on  the 
Pentlands  or  in  one  of  the  outlying  cemeteries  of 
the  city  Bobby  must  have  been  known  to  few 
of  his  generation,  and  to  fame  not  at  all.  But 
among  churchyards  Greyfriars  was  distinguished. 
One  of  the  historic  show-places  of  Edinburgh, 
and  in  the  very  heart  of  the  Old  Town,  it  was 
never  missed  by  the  most  hurried  tourist,  seldom 
left  un visited,  from  year  to  year,  by  the  oldest 
resident.  Names  on  its  old  tombs  had  come  to 
mean  nothing  to  those  who  read  them,  except  as 
they  recalled  memorable  records  of  love,  of  in- 
spiration, of  courage,  of  self-sacrifice.  And  this 
being  so,  it  touched  the  imagination  to  see, 
among  the  marbles  that  crumbled  toward  the 
dust  below,  a  living  embodiment  of  affection  and 
fidelity.  Indeed,  it  came  to  be  remarked,  as  it  is 
18  261 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

remarked  to-day,  although  four  decades  have 
gone  by,  that  no  other  spot  in  Greyfriars  was  so 
much  cared  for  as  the  grave  of  a  man  of  whom 
nothing  was  known  except  that  the  life  and  love 
of  a  little  dog  was  consecrated  to  his  memory. 

At  almost  any  hour  Bobby  might  be  found 
there.  As  he  grew  older  he  became  less  and  less 
willing  to  be  long  absent,  and  he  got  much  of  his 
exercise  by  nosing  about  among  the  neighboring 
thorns.  In  fair  weather  he  took  his  frequent 
naps  on  the  turf  above  his  master,  or  he  sat  on 
the  fallen  table-tomb  in  the  sun.  On  foul  days 
he  watched  the  grave  from  under  the  slab,  and  to 
that  spot  he  returned  from  every  skirmish  against 
the  enemy.  Visitors  stopped  to  speak  to  him. 
Favored  ones  were  permitted  to  read  the  inscrip- 
tion on  his  collar  and  to  pat  his  head.  It  seemed, 
therefore,  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world 
when  the  greatest  lady  in  England,  beside  the 
Queen,  the  Baroness  Burdett-Coutts,  came  all 
the  way  from  London  to  see  Bobby. 

Except  that  it  was  the  first  Monday  in  June, 
and  Founder's  Day  at  Heriot's  Hospital,  it  was 
like  any  other  day  of  useful  work,  innocent 
pleasure,  and  dreaming  dozes  on  Auld  Jock's 
grave  to  wee  Bobby.  As  years  go,  the  shaggy 
little  Skye  was  an  old  dog,  but  he  was  not  feeble 
or  blind  or  unhappy.  A  terrier,  as  a  rule,  does 

269 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

0ot  live  as  long  as  more  sluggish  breeds  of  dogs, 
but,  active  to  the  very  end,  he  literally  wears 
himself  out  tearing  around,  and  then  goes,  little 
soldier,  very  suddenly,  dying  gallantly  with  his 
boots  on. 

In  the  very  early  mornings  of  the  northern 
summer  Bobby  woke  with  the  birds,  a  long  time 
before  the  reveille  was  sounded  from  the  Castle. 
He  scampered  1^wn  to  the  circling  street  of 
tombs  at  once  and  not  until  the  last  prowler  had 
been  despatcned,  or  frightened  into  his  burrow, 
did  he  return  for  a  brief  nap  on  Auld  Jock's  grave. 

All  about  him  the  birds  fluttered  and  hopped 
and  gossiped  and  foraged,  unafraid.  They  were 
used,  by  this  time,  to  seeing  the  little  dog  lying 
motionless,  his  nose  on  his  paws.  Often  some 
tidbit  of  food  lay  there,  brought  for  Bobby  by  a 
stranger.  He  had  learned  that  a  Scotch  bun 
dropped  near  him  was  a  feast  that  brought 
feathered  visitors  about  and  won  their  confidence 
and  cheerful  companionship.  When  he  awoke 
he  lay  there  lolling  and  blinking,  following  the 
blue  rovings  of  the  titmice  and  listening  to  the 
foolish  squabbles  of  the  sparrows  and  the  shrew- 
ish scoldings  of  the  wrens.  He  always  started 
when  a  lark  sprang  at  his  feet  and  a  cataract  of 
melody  tumbled  from  the  sky. 

But,  best  of  all,  Bobby  loved  a  comfortable 
263 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

and  friendly  robin  redbreast — not  the  American 
thrush  that  is  called  a  robin,  but  the  smaller  Old 
World  warbler.  It  had  its  nest  of  grass  and  moss 
and  feathers,  and  many  a  silver  hair  shed  by 
Bobby,  low  in  a  near-by  thorn  bush.  In  sweet 
and  plaintive  talking  notes  it  told  its  little  dog 
companion  all  about  the  babies  that  had  left  the 
nest  and  the  new  brood  that  would  soon  be  there. 
On  the  morning  of  that  wonderful  day  of  the 
Grand  Leddy's  first  coming,  Bob^  and  the  red- 
breast had  a  pleasant  visit  together  before  the 
casements  began  to  open  and  the  tenement  bairns 
called  down  their  morning  greeting: 

"A  gude  day  to  ye,  Bobby." 

By  the  time  all  these  courtesies  had  been  re- 
turned Tammy  came  in  at  the  gate  with  his  al- 
lege books  strapped  on  his  back.  The  old  Cunzie 
Neuk  had  been  demolished  by  Glenormiston,  and 
Tammy,  living  in  better  quarters,  was  studying 
to  be  a  teacher  at  Heriot's.  Bobby  saw  him 
settled,  and  then  he  had  to  escort  Mr.  Brown 
down  from  the  lodge.  The  caretaker  made  his 
way  about  stiffly  with  a  cane  and,  with  the  aid 
of  a  young  helper  who  exasperated  the  old  gar- 
dener by  his  cheerful  inefficiency,  kept  the  auld 
kirkyard  in  beautiful  order. 

"Eh,  ye  gude-for-naethin'  tyke,"  he  said  to 
Bobby,  in  transparent  pretense  of  his  uselessness. 

264 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

"Get  to  wark,  or  I'll  hae  a  young  dog  in  to  gie 
ye  a  lift,  an1  syne  whaur  '11  ye  be  ?" 

Bobby  jumped  on  him  in  open  delight  at  this, 
as  much  as  to  say:  "Ye  may  be  as  dour  as  ye 
like,  but  ilka  body  kens  ye're  gude-hearted." 

Morning  and  evening  numerous  friends  passed 
the  gate,  and  the  wee  dog  waited  for  them  on  the 
wicket.  Dr.  George  Ross  and  Mr.  Alexander 
McGregor  shook  Bobby's  lifted  paw  and  called 
him  a  sonsie  rascal.  Small  merchants,  students, 
clerks,  factory  workers,  house  servants,  labor* 
ers  and  vendors,  all  honest  and  useful  people, 
had  come  up  out  of  these  old  tenements  within 
Bobby's  memory;  and  others  had  gone  down, 
alas !  into  the  Cowgate.  But  Bobby's  tail  wagged 
for  these  unfortunates,  too,  and  some  of  them 
had  no  other  friend  in  the  world  beside  that  un- 
calculating  little  dog. 

When  the  morning  stream  of  auld  acquaintance 
had  gone  by,  and  none  forgot,  Bobby  went  up  to 
the  lodge  to  sit  for  an  hour  with  Mistress  Jeanie. 
There  he  was  called  "croodlin'  doo" — which  was 
altogether  absurd — by  the  fond  old  woman. 
As  neat  of  plumage,  and  as  busy  and  talkative 
about  small  domestic  matters  as  the  robin, 
Bobby  loved  to  watch  the  wifie  stirring  savory 
messes  over  the  fire,  watering  her  posies,  clean- 
ing the  fluttering  skylark's  cage,  or  just  sitting 

265 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

by  the  hearth  or  in  the  sunny  doorway  with 
him,  knitting  warm  stockings  for  her  rheumatic 
gude-mon. 

Out  in  the  kirkyard  Bobby  trotted  dutifully 
at  the  caretaker's  heels.  When  visitors  were 
about  he  did  not  venture  to  take  a  nap  in  the 
open  unless  Mr.  Brown  was  on  guard,  and, 
by  long  and  close  companionship  with  him,  the 
aging  man  could  often  tell  what  Bobby  was 
dreaming  about.  At  a  convulsive  movement  and 
a  jerk  of  his  head  the  caretaker  would  say  to  the 
wifie,  if  she  chanced  to  be  near : 

"Leuk  at  that,  noo,  wull  ye?  The  sperity  bit 
was  takin'  thae  fou'  vermin."  And  again,  when 
the  muscles  of  his  legs  worked  rhythmically, 
"He's  rinnin'  wi'  the  laddies  or  the  braw  soldiers 
on  the  braes." 

Bobby  often  woke  from  a  dream  with  a  start, 
looked  dazed,  and  then  foolish,  at  the  vivid 
imaginings  of  sleep.  But  when,  in  a  doze,  he 
half  stretched  himself  up  on  his  short,  shagged 
fore  paws,  flattened  out,  and  then  awoke  and  lay 
so,  very  still,  for  a  time,  it  was  Mistress  Jeanie 
who  said: 

1 '  Preserve  us  a' !  The  bonny  wee  was  dreamin' 
o'his  maister's  deith,  an*  noo  he's  greetin'  sair." 

At  that  she  took  her  little  stool  and  sat  on  the 
grave  beside  him.  But  Mr.  Brown  bit  his  teeth 

266 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

iti  his  pipe,  limped  away,  and  stormed  at  his  daft 
helper  laddie,  who  didn't  appear  to  know  a  violet 
from  a  burdock. 

Ah!  who  can  doubt  that,  so  deeply  were  scene 
and  word  graven  on  his  memory,  Bobby  often 
lived  again  the  hour  of  his  bereavement,  and 
heard  Auld  Jock's  last  words : 

' '  Gang — awa' — hame — laddie !' ' 

Homeless  on  earth,  gude  Auld  Jock  had  gone 
to  a  place  prepared  for  him.  But  his  faithful 
little  dog  had  no  home.  This  sacred  spot  was 
merely  his  tarrying  place,  where  he  waited  until 
such  a  time  as  that  mysterious  door  should  open 
for  him,  perchance  to  an  equal  sky,  and  he  could 
slip  through  and  find  his  master. 

On  the  morning  of  the  day  when  the  Grand 
Leddy  came  Bobby  watched  the  holiday  crowd 
gather  on  Heriot's  Hospital  grounds.  The 
mothers  and  sisters  of  hundreds  of  boys  were 
there,  looking  on  at  the  great  match  game  of 
cricket.  Bobby  dropped  over  the  wall  and 
scampered  about,  taking  a  merry  part  in  the 
play.  When  the  pupils'  procession  was  formed, 
and  the  long  line  of  grinning  and  nudging  laddies 
marched  in  to  service  in  the  chapel  and  dinner 
in  the  hall,  he  was  set  up  over  the  kirkyard  wall, 
hundreds  of  hands  were  waved  to  him,  and 
voices  called  back:  "Fareweel,  Bobby!'1  Then 

967 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

the  time-gun  boomed  from  the  Castle,  and  the 
little  dog  trotted  up  for  his  dinner  and  nap  under 
the  settle  and  his  daily  visit  with  Mr.  Traill. 

In  fair  weather,  when  the  last  guest  had  de- 
parted and  the  music  bells  of  St.Giles  had  ceased 
playing,  the  landlord  was  fond  of  standing  in  his 
doorway,  bareheaded  and  in  shirt-sleeves  and 
apron,  to  exchange  opinions  on  politics,  litera- 
ture and  religion,  or  to  tell  Bobby's  story  to 
what  passers-by  he  could  beguile  into  talk.  At 
his  feet,  there,  was  a  fine  place  for  a  sociable  little 
dog  to  spend  an  hour.  When  he  was  ready  to 
go  Bobby  set  his  paws  upon  Mr.  Traill  and  waited 
for  the  landlord's  hand  to  be  laid  on  his  head  and 
the  man  to  say,  in  the  dialect  the  little  dog  best 
understood:  "Bide  a  wee.  Ye're  no'  needin'  to 
gang  sae  sune,  laddie!" 

At  that  he  dropped,  barked  politely,  wagged 
his  tail,  and  was  off.  If  Mr.  Traill  really  wanted 
to  detain  Bobby  he  had  only  to  withhold  the 
magic  word  "laddie,"  that  no  one  else  had  used 
toward  the  little  dog  since  Auld  Jock  died.  But 
if  the  word  was  too  long  in  coming,  Bobby  would 
thrash  his  tail  about  impatiently,  look  up  appeal- 
ingly,  and  finally  rise  and  beg  and  whimper. 

"Weel,  then,  bide  wi'  me,  an*  ye'll  get  it  ilka 
hour  o'  the  day,  ye  sonsie,  wee,  takin'  bit !  What 
are  ye  hangin'  aroond  for?  Eh — weel — gang 

268 


GREYFRIARS   BOBBY 

awa*  wi'  ye— laddie!"  The  landlord  sighed  and 
looked  down  reproachfully.  With  a  delighted 
yelp,  and  a  lick  of  the  lingering  hand,  Bobby  was 
off. 

It  was  after  three  o'clock  on  this  day  when  he 
returned  to  the  kirkyard.  The  caretaker  was 
working  at  the  upper  end,  and  the  little  dog  was 
lonely.  But,  long  enough  absent  from  his  mas- 
ter, Bobby  lay  down  on  the  grave,  in  the  stillness 
of  the  mid-afternoon.  The  robin  made  a  brief 
call  and,  as  no  other  birds  were  about,  hopped 
upon  Bobby's  back,  perched  on  his  head,  and 
warbled  a  little  song.  It  was  then  that  the  gate 
clicked.  Dismissing  her  carriage  and  telling  the 
coachman  to  return  at  five,  Lady  Burdett-Coutts 
entered  the  kirkyard. 

Bobby  trotted  around  the  kirk  on  the  chance 
of  meeting  a  friend.  He  looked  up  intently  at 
the  strange  lady  for  a  moment,  and  she  stood 
still  and  looked  down  at  him.  She  was  not  a 
beautiful  lady,  nor  very  young.  Indeed,  she 
was  a  few  years  older  than  the  Queen,  and  the 
Queen  was  a  widowed  grandmother.  But  she 
had  a  sweet  dignity  and  warm  serenity — an  un- 
hurried look,  as  if  she  had  all  the  time  in  the 
world  for  a  wee  dog;  and  Bobby  was  an  age- 
whitened  muff  of  a  plaintive  terrier  that  cap- 
tured her  heart  at  once.  Very  certain  that  this 

269 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

stranger  knew  and  cared  about  how  he  felt, 
Bobby  turned  and  led  her  down  to  Auld  Jock's 
grave.  And  when  she  was  seated  on  the  table- 
tomb  he  came  up  to  her  and  let  her  look  at  his 
collar,  and  he  stood  under  her  caress,  although 
she  spoke  to  him  in  fey  English,  calling  him  a 
darling  little  dog.  Then,  entirely  contented  with 
her  company,  he  lay  down,  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
her  and  lolling  his  tongue. 

The  sun  was  on  the  green  and  flowery  slope  of 
Greyfriars,  warming  the  weathered  tombs  and 
the  rear  windows  of  the  tenements.  The  Grand 
Leddy  found  a  great  deal  there  to  interest  her 
beside  Bobby  and  the  robin  that  chirped  and 
picked  up  crumbs  between  the  little  dog's  paws. 
Presently  the  gate  was  opened  again  and  a 
housemaid  from  some  mansion  in  George  Square 
came  around  the  kirk.  Trained  by  Mistress 
Jeanie,  she  was  a  neat  and  pretty  and  pleasant- 
mannered  housemaid,  in  a  black  gown  and  white 
apron,  and  with  a  frilled  cap  on  her  crinkly,  gold- 
brown  hair  that  had  had  more  than  "a  lick  or 
twa  the  nicht  afore." 

"It's  juist  Ailie,"  Bobby  seemed  to  say,  as  he 
stood  a  moment  with  crested  neck  and  tail. 
"Ilka  body  kens  Ailie." 

The  servant  lassie,  with  an  hour  out,  had 
stopped  to  speak  to  Bobby  She  had  not  meant 

270 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

to  stay  long,  but  the  lady,  who  didn't  look  in  the 
least  grand,  began  to  think  friendly  things  aloud. 

"The  windows  of  the  tenements  are  very  clean." 

"  Ay.  The  bairnies  couldna  see  Bobby  gin  the 
windows  warna  washed."  The  lassie  was  pull- 
ing her  adored  little  pet's  ears,  and  Bobby  was 
nuzzling  up  to  her. 

"In  many  of  the  windows  there  is  a  box  of 
flowers,  or  of  kitchen  herbs  to  make  the  broth 
savory." 

"It  wasna  so  i'  the  auld  days.  It  was  aye 
washin's  clappin'  aboon  the  stanes.  Noo,  mony 
o'  the  mithers  hang  the  claes  oot  at  nicht.  Ilka 
thing  is  changed  sin*  I  was  a  wean  an'  leevin'  i' 
the  auld  Guildhall,  the  bairnies  haen  Bobby  to 
lo'e,  an'  no'  to  be  neglectet."  She  continued  the 
conversation  to  include  Tammy  as  he  came 
around  the  kirk  on  his  tapping  crutches. 

"Hoo  mony  years  is  it,  Tammy,  sicC  "Bobby's 
been  leevin'  i'  the  auld  kirkyaird?  At  Maister 
Traill's  snawy  picnic  ye  war  five  gangin'  on  sax." 
They  exchanged  glances  in  which  lay  one  of  the 
happy  memories  of  sad  childhoods. 

' '  Noo  I'm  nineteen  going  on  twenty.  It's  near 
fourteen  years  syne,  Ailie."  Nearly  all  the  burrs 
had  been  pulled  from  Tammy's  tongue,  but  he 
used  a  Scotch  word  now  and  then,  no'  to  shame 
Ailie's  less  cultivated  speech. 

271 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

"So  long?"  murmured  the  Grand  Leddy, 
"Bobby  is  getting  old,  very  old  for  a  terrier." 

As  if  to  deny  that,  Bobby  suddenly  shot  down 
the  slope  in  answer  to  a  cry  of  alarm  from  a  song 
thrush.  Still  good  for  a  dash,  when  he  came 
back  he  dropped  panting.  The  lady  put  her 
hand  on  his  rippling  coat  and  felt  his  heart 
pounding.  Then  she  looked  at  his  worn-down 
teeth  and  lifted  his  veil.  Much  of  the  luster 
was  gone  from  Bobby's  brown  eyes,  but  they 
were  still  soft  and  deep  and  appealing. 

From  the  windows  children  looked  down  upon 
the  quiet  group  and,  without  in  the  least  knowing 
why  they  wanted  to  be  there,  too,  the  tenement 
bairns  began  to  drop  into  the  kirkyard.  Al- 
most at  once  it  rained — a  quick,  bright,  dashing 
shower  that  sent  them  all  flying  and  laughing  up 
to  the  shelter  of  the  portico  to  the  new  kirk. 
Bobby  scampered  up,  too,  and  with  the  bairns 
in  holiday  duddies  crowding  about  her,  and  the 
wee  dog  lolling  at  her  feet,  the  Grand  Leddy 
talked  fairy  stories. 

She  told  them  all  about  a  pretty  country  place 
near  London.  It  was  called  Holly  Lodge  be- 
cause its  hedges  were  bright  with  green  leaves 
and  red  berries,  even  in  winter.  A  lady  who  had 
no  family  at  all  lived  there,  and  to  keep  her  com- 
pany she  had  all  sorts  of  pets.  Peter  and  Prince 

272 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

were  the  dearest  dogs,  and  Cocky  was  a  parrot 
that  could  say  the  most  amusing  things.  Sir 
Garnet  was  the  llama  goat,  or  sheep — she  didn't 
know  which.  There  was  a  fat  and  lazy  old  pony 
that  had  long  been  pensioned  off  on  oats  and 
clover,  and — oh  yes — the  white  donkey  must  not 
be  forgotten! 

"O-o-o-oh!  I  didna  ken  there  wad  be  ony 
white  donkeys!"  cried  a  big-eyed  laddie. 

"There  cannot  be  many,  and  there's  a  story 
about  how  the  lady  came  to  have  this  one.  One 
day,  driving  in  a  poor  street,  she  saw  a  coster — 
that  is  a  London  peddler — beating  his  tired  don- 
key that  refused  to  pull  the  load.  The  lady  got 
out  of  her  carriage,  fed  the  animal  some  carrots 
from  the  cart,  talked  kindly  to  him  right  into 
his  big,  surprised  ear,  and  stroked  his  nose. 
Presently  the  poor  beast  felt  better  and  started 
off  cheerfully  with  the  heavy  cart.  When  many 
costers  learned  that  it  was  not  only  wicked  but 
foolish  to  abuse  their  patient  animals,  they 
hunted  for  a  white  donkey  to  give  the  lady.  They 
put  a  collar  of  flowers  about  his  neck,  and  brought 
him  up  on  a  platform  before  a  crowd  of  people. 
Everybody  laughed,  for  he  was  a  clumsy  and 
comical  beast  to  be  decorated  with  roses  and 
daisies.  But  the  lady  is  proud  of  him,  and  now 
that  pampered  donkey  has  nothing  to  do  but 

273 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

pull  her  Bath  chair  about,  when  she  is  at  Holly 
Lodge,  and  kick  up  his  heels  on  a  clover  pasture." 

"Are  ye  kennin'  anither  tale,  Leddy?" 

"Oh,  a  number  of  them.  Prince,  the  fox 
terrier,  was  ill  once,  and  the  doctor  who  came 
to  see  him  said  his  mistress  gave  him  too  much 
to  eat.  That  was  very  probable,  because  that 
lady  likes  to  see  children  and  animals  have  too 
much  to  eat.  There  are  dozens  and  dozens  of 
poor  children  that  the  lady  knows  and  loves. 
Once  they  lived  in  a  very  dark  and  dirty  and 
crowded  tenement,  quite  as  bad  as  some  that 
were  torn  down  in  the  Cowgate  and  the  Grass- 
market." 

"It  mak's  ye  fecht  ane  anither,"  said  one 
laddie,  soberly.  "Gin  they  had  a  sonsie  doggie 
like  Bobby  to  lo'e,  an*  an  auld  kirkyaird  wi' 
posies  an'  birdies  to  leuk  into,  they  wadna  fecht 
sae  muckle." 

"I'm  very  sure  of  that.  Well,  the  lady  built 
a  new  tenement  with  plenty  of  room  and  light 
and  air,  and  a  market  so  they  can  get  better  food 
more  cheaply,  and  a  large  church,  that  is  also  a 
kind  of  school  where  big  and  little  people  can 
learn  many  things.  She  gives  the  children  of 
the  neighborhood  a  Christmas  dinner  and  a  gay 
tree,  and  she  strips  the  hedges  of  Holly  Lodge 
for  them,  and  then  she  takes  Peter  and  Prince^ 

274 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

and  Cocky  the  parrot,  to  help  along  the  fun,  and 
she  tells  her  newest  stories.  Next  Christmas 
she  means  to  tell  the  story  of  Greyfriars  Bobby, 
and  how  all  his  little  Scotch  friends  are  better- 
behaving  and  cleaner  and  happier  because  they 
have  that  wee  dog  to  love." 

"Ilka  body  lo'es  Bobby.  He  wasna  ever  mis- 
treatet  or  neglectet,"  said  Ailie,  thoughtfully. 

"Oh — my — dear!  That's  the  very  best  part 
of  the  story!"  The  Grand  Leddy  had  a  shining 
look. 

The  rain  had  ceased  and  the  sun  come  out,  and 
the  children  began  to  be  called  away.  There 
was  quite  a  little  ceremony  of  lingering  leave- 
taking  with  the  lady  and  with  Bobby,  and  while 
this  was  going  on  Ailie  had  a  "sairious"  con- 
fidence for  her  old  playfellow. 

"Tammy,  as  the  leddy  says,  Bobby's  gettin' 
auld.  I  ken  whaur's  a  snawy  hawthorn  aboon 
the  burn  in  Swanston  Dell.  The  throstles  nest 
there,  an*  the  blackbirds  whustle  bonny.  It 
isna  so  far  but  the  bairnies  could  march  oot  wi' 
posies."  She  turned  to  the  lady,  who  had  over- 
heard her.  "We  gied  a  promise  to  the  Laird 
Provost  to  gie  Bobby  a  grand  funeral.  Ye  ken 
he  wullna  be  permittet  to  be  buried  i'  the  kirk- 
yaird." 

"Will  he  not?  I  had  not  thought  of  that." 
275 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

Her  tone  was  at  once  hushed  and  startled. 
Then  she  was  down  in  the  grass,  brooding  over 
the  little  dog,  and  Bobby  had  the  pathetic  look 
of  trying  to  understand  what  this  emotional  talk, 
that  seemed  to  concern  himself,  was  about. 
Tammy  and  Ailie  were  down,  too. 

"Are  ye  thinkin'  Bobby  wull  be  kennin'  the 
deeference?"  Ailie's  bluebell  eyes  were  wide  at 
the  thought  of  pain  for  this  little  pet. 

"I  do  not  know,  my  dear.  But  there  cannot 
well  be  more  love  in  this  world  than  there  is 
room  for  in  God's  heaven." 

She  was  silent  all  the  way  to  the  gate,  some 
thought  in  her  mind  already  working  toward  a 
gracious  deed.  At  the  last  she  said :  "  The  little 
dog  is  fond  of  you  both.  Be  with  him  all  you 
can,  for  I  think  his  beautiful  life  is  near  its  end.1' 
After  a  pause,  during  which  her  face  was  lighted 
by  a  smile,  as  if  from  a  lovely  thought  within, 
she  added:  "Don't  let  Bobby  die  before  my 
return  from  London.*' 

In  a  week  she  was  back,  and  in  the  meantime 
letters  and  telegrams  had  been  flying,  and  many 
wheels  set  in  motion  in  wee  Bobby's  affairs. 
When  she  returned  to  the  churchyard,  very  early 
one  morning,  no  less  a  person  than  the  Lord 
Provost  himself  was  with  her.  Five  years  had 
passed,  but  Mr.  —  no,  Sir  William  —  Chambers, 

076 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

Laird  of  Glenormiston,  for  he  had  been  knighted 
by  the  Queen,  was  still  Lord  Provost  of  Edin- 
burgh. 

Almost  immediately  Mr.  Traill  appeared,  by 
appointment,  and  was  made  all  but  speechless  for 
once  in  his  loquacious  life  by  the  honor  of  being 
asked  to  tell  Bobby's  story  to  the  Baroness 
Burdett-Coutts.  But  not  even  a  tenement  child 
or  a  London  coster  could  be  ill  at  ease  with  the 
Grand  Leddy  for  very  long,  and  presently  the 
three  were  in  close  conference  in  the  portico. 
Bobby  welcomed  them,  and  then  dozed  in  the 
sun  and  visited  with  the  robin  on  Auld  Jock's 
grave.  Far  from  being  tongue-tied,  the  landlord 
was  inspired.  What  did  he  not  remember,  from 
the  pathetic  renunciation,  "Bobby  isna  ma  ain 
dog,"  down  to  the  leal  Highlander's  last,  near- 
tragic  reminder  to  men  that  in  the  nameless 
grave  lay  his  unforgotten  master. 

He  sketched  the  scene  in  Haddo's  Hole,  where 
the  tenement  bairns  poured  out  as  pure  a  gift  of 
love  and  mercy  and  self-sacrifice  as  had  ever 
been  laid  at  the  foot  of  a  Scottish  altar.  He  told 
of  the  search  for  the  lately  ransomed  and  lost 
terrier,  by  the  lavish  use  of  oil  and  candles;  of 
Bobby's  coming  down  Castle  Rock  in  the  fog, 
battered  and  bruised  for  a  month's  careful  tend- 
ing by  an  old  Heriot  laddie.  His  feet  still 
19  277 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

showed  the  scars  of  that  perilous  descent.  Ho 
himself,  remorseful,  had  gone  with  the  Bible- 
reader  from  the  Medical  Mission  in  the  Cowgate 
to  the  dormer-lighted  closet  in  College  Wynd, 
where  Auld  Jock  had  died.  Now  he  described 
the  classic  fireplace  of  white  freestone,  with  its 
boxed-in  bed,  where  the  Pentland  shepherd  lay 
like  some  effigy  on  a  bier,  with  the  wee  guardian 
dog  stretched  on  the  flagged  hearth  below. 

"What  a  subject  for  a  monument !"  The 
Grand  Leddy  looked  across  the  top  of  the  slope 
at  the  sleeping  Skye.  "I  suppose  there  is  no 
portrait  of  Bobby." 

"Ay,  your  Leddyship;  I  have  a  drawing  in  the 
dining-rooms,  sketched  by  Mr.  Daniel  Maclise. 
He  was  here  a  year  or  twa  ago,  just  before  his 
death,  doing  some  commission,  and  often  had 
his  tea  in  my  bit  place.  I  told  him  Bobby's 
story,  and  he  made  the  sketch  for  me  as  a 
souvenir  of  his  veesit." 

"I  am  sure  you  prize  it,  Mr.  Traill.  Mr. 
Maclise  was  a  talented  artist,  but  he  was  not 
especially  an  animal  painter.  There  really  is  no 
one  since  Landseer  paints  no  more." 

"I  would  advise  you,  Baroness,  not  to  make 
that  remark  at  an  Edinburgh  dinner -table." 
Glenormiston  was  smiling.  "The  pride  of  Auld 
Reekie  just  now  is  Mr.  Gourlay  Stelle,  who  was 

278 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

lately  commanded  to  Balmoral  Castle  to  paint 
the  Queen's  dogs." 

"The  very  person!  I  have  seen  his  beautiful 
canvas — 'Burns  and  the  Field  Mouse.'  Is  he 
not  a  younger  brother  of  Sir  John  Stelle,  the 
sculptor  of  the  statue  and  character  figures  in  the 
Scott  monument?"  Her  eyes  sparkled  as  she 
added:  "You  have  so  much  talent  of  the  right 
sorts  here  that  it  would  be  wicked  not  to  employ 
it  in  the  good  cause." 

What  "the  good  cause"  was  came  out  pres- 
ently, in  the  church,  where  she  startled  even 
Glenormiston  and  Mr.  Traill  by  saying  quietly 
to  the  minister  and  the  church  officers  of  Grey- 
friars  auld  kirk:  "When  Bobby  dies  I  want  him 
laid  in  the  grave  with  his  master." 

Every  member  of  both  congregations  knew 
Bobby  and  was  proud  of  his  fame,  but  no 
official  notice  had  ever  been  taken  of  the  little 
dog's  presence  in  the  churchyard.  The  elders 
and  deacons  were,  in  truth,  surprised  that  such 
distinguished  attention  should  be  directed  to 
him  now,  and  they  were  embarrassed  by  it. 
It  was  not  easy  for  any  body  of  men  in  the 
United  Kingdom  to  refuse  anything  to  Lady 
Burdett-Coutts,  because  she  could  always  count 
upon  having  the  sympathy  of  the  public.  But 
this,  they  declared,  could  not  be  considered. 

279 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

To  propose  to  bury  a  dog  in  the  historic  church- 
yard would  scandalize  the  city.  To  this  ob- 
jection Glenormiston  said,  seriously:  "The  feel- 
ing about  Bobby  is  quite  exceptional.  I  would 
be  willing  to  put  the  matter  to  the  test  of  heading 
a  petition." 

At  that  the  church  officers  threw  up  their 
hands.  They  preferred  to  sound  public  senti- 
ment themselves,  and  would  consider  it.  But  if 
Bobby  was  permitted  to  be  buried  with  his 
master  there  must  be  no  notice  taken  of  it. 
Well,  the  Heriot  laddies  might  line  up  along  the 
wall,  and  the  tenement  bairns  look  down  from 
the  windows.  Would  that  satisfy  her  ladyship  ? 

"As  far  as  it  goes."  The  Grand  Leddy  was 
smiling,  but  a  little  tremulous  about  the  mouth. 

That  was  a  day  when  women  had  little  to  say 
in  public,  and  she  meant  to  make  a  speech,  and  to 
ask  to  be  allowed  to  do  an  unheard-of  thing. 

"I  want  to  put  up  a  monument  to  the  name- 
less man  who  inspired  such  love,  and  to  the 
little  dog  that  was  capable  of  giving  it.  Ah ! 
gentlemen,  do  not  refuse,  now."  She  sketched 
her  idea  of  the  classic  fireplace  bier,  the  dead 
shepherd  of  the  Pentlands,  and  the  little  pros- 
trate terrier.  "Immemorial  man  and  his  faith- 
ful dog.  Our  society  for  the  prevention  of 
cruelty  to  animals  is  finding  it  so  hard  to  get 

280 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

people  even  to  admit  the  sacredness  of  life  in 
dumb  creatures,  the  brutalizing  effects  of  abuse 
of  them  on  human  beings,  and  the  moral  and 
practical  worth  to  us  of  kindness.  To  insist  that 
a  dog  feels,  that  he  loves  devotedly  and  with  less 
calculation  than  men,  that  he  grieves  at  a  master 's 
death  and  remembers  him  long  years,  brings  a 
smile  of  amusement.  Ah  yes !  Here  in  Scotland, 
too,  where  your  own  great  Lord  Erskine  was  a 
pioneer  of  pity  two  generations  ago,  and  with 
Sir  Walter's  dogs  beloved  of  the  literary,  and 
Doctor  Brown's  immortal  'Rab,'  we  find  it  up- 
hill work. 

"The  story  of  Greyfriars  Bobby  is  quite  the 
most  complete  and  remarkable  ever  recorded  in 
dog  annals.  His  lifetime  of  devotion  has  been 
witnessed  by  thousands,  and  honored  publicly, 
by  your  own  Lord  Provost,  with  the  freedom  of 
the  city,  a  thing  that,  I  believe,  has  no  precedent, 
All  the  endearing  qualities  of  the  dog  reach  theii 
height  in  this  loyal  and  lovable  Highland  ter- 
rier; and  he  seems  to  have  brought  out  the  best 
qualities  of  the  people  who  have  known  him. 
Indeed,  for  fourteen  years  hundreds  of  disin^ 
herited  children  have  been  made  kinder  and 
happier  by  knowing  Bobby's  story  and  having 
that  little  dog  to  love." 

She  stopped  in  some  embarrassment,  seeing 
281 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

how  she  had  let  herself  go,  in  this  warm  cham- 
pionship, and  then  she  added:  "Bobby  does  not 
need  a  monument,  but  I  think  we  need  one  of 
him,  that  future  generations  may  never  forget 
what  the  love  of  a  dog  may  mean,  to  himself  and 
to  us." 

The  Grand  Leddy  must  have  won  her  plea, 
then  and  there,  but  for  the  fact  that  the  matter 
of  erecting  a  monument  of  a  public  character 
anywhere  in  the  city  had  to  come  up  before  the 
Burgh  council.  In  that  body  the  stubborn  op- 
position of  a  few  members  unexpectedly  devel- 
oped, and,  in  spite  of  popular  sympathy  with  the 
proposal,  the  plan  was  rejected.  Permission 
was  given,  however,  for  Lady  Burdett-Coutts  to 
put  up  a  suitable  memorial  to  Bobby  at  the  end 
of  George  IV.  Bridge,  and  opposite  the  main 
gateway  to  the  kirkyard. 

For  such  a  public  place  a  tomb  was  unsuitable. 
What  form  the  memorial  was  to  take  was  not 
decided  upon  until,  because  of  two  chance  hap- 
penings of  one  morning,  the  form  of  it  bloomed 
like  a  flower  in  the  soul  of  the  Grand  Leddy. 
She  had  come  down  to  the  kirkyard  to  watch  the 
artist  at  work.  Morning  after  morning  he  had 
sketched  there.  He  had  drawn  Bobby  lying 
down,  his  nose  on  his  paws,  asleep  on  the  grave. 
He  had  drawn  him  sitting  upon  the  table-tomb, 

282 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

and  standing  in  the  begging  attitude  in  which 
he  was  so  irresistible.  But  with  every  sketch 
he  was  dissatisfied. 

Bobby  was  a  trying  and  deceptive  subject. 
He  had  the  air  of  curiosity  and  gaiety  of  other 
terriers.  He  saw  no  sense  at  all  in  keeping  still, 
with  his  muzzle  tipped  up  or  down,  and  his  tail 
held  just  so.  He  brushed  all  that  unreasonable 
man's  suggestions  aside  as  quite  unworthy  of 
consideration.  Besides,  he  had  the  liveliest 
interest  in  the  astonishing  little  dog  that  grew 
and  disappeared,  and  came  back,  in  some  new 
attitude,  on  the  canvas.  He  scraped  acquain- 
tance with  it  once  or  twice  to  the  damage  of 
fresh  brush-work.  He  was  always  jumping  from 
his  pose  and  running  around  the  easel  to  see  how 
the  latest  dog  was  coming  on. 

After  a  number  of  mornings  Bobby  lost  interest 
in  the  man  and  his  occupation  and  went  about 
his  ordinary  routine  of  life  as  if  the  artist  was 
not  there  at  all.  One  morning  the  wee  terrier 
was  found  sitting  on  the  table-tomb,  on  his 
haunches,  looking  up  toward  the  Castle,  where 
clouds  and  birds  were  blown  around  the  sun- 
gilded  battlements. 

His  attitude  might  have  meant  anything  or 
nothing,  for  the  man  who  looked  at  him  from 
above  could  not  see  his  expression.  And  all  at 

283 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

once  he  realized  that  to  see  Bobby  a  human 
being  must  get  down  to  his  level.  To  the  scandal 
of  the  children,  he  lay  on  his  back  on  the  grass 
and  did  nothing  at  all  but  look  up  at  Bobby  until 
the  little  dog  moved.  Then  he  set  the  wee 
Highlander  up  on  an  altar-topped  shaft  just 
above  the  level  of  the  human  eye.  Indifferent 
at  the  moment  as  to  what  was  done  to  him. 
Bobby  continued  to  gaze  up  and  out,  wistfully 
and  patiently,  upon  this  masterless  world.  As 
plainly  as  a  little  dog  could  speak,  Bobby  said: 

"I  hae  bided  lang  an'  lanely.  Hoo  lang  hae  I 
still  to  bide?  An*  syne,  wull  I  be  gangin'  to 
Auld  Jock?'1 

The  Grand  Leddy  saw  that  at  once,  and  tears 
started  to  her  eyes  when  she  came  in  to  find  the 
artist  sketching  with  feverish  rapidity.  She  con- 
fessed that  she  had  looked  into  Bobby's  eyes, 
but  she  had  never  truly  seen  that  mourning  little 
creature  before.  He  had  only  to  be  set  up  so, 
in  bronze,  and  looking  through  the  kirkyard  gate, 
to  tell  his  own  story  to  the  most  careless  passer- 
by. The  image  of  the  simple  memorial  was 
clear  in  her  mind,  and  it  seemed  unlikely  that 
anything  could  be  added  to  it,  when  she  left  the 
kirkyard. 

As  she  was  getting  into  her  carriage  a  noble 
collie,  but  one  with  a  discouraged  tail  and  hang* 

284 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

ing  tongue,  came  out  of  Forest  Road.  He  had 
done  a  hard  morning's  work,  of  driving  a  flock 
from  the  Pentlands  to  the  cattle  and  sheep 
market,  and  then  had  hunted  far  and  unsuccess- 
fully for  water.  He  nosed  along  the  gutter,  here 
and  there  licking  from  the  cobblestones  what 
muddy  moisture  had  not  drained  away  from  a 
recent  rain.  The  same  lady  who  had  fed  the 
carrots  to  the  coster's  donkey  in  London  turned 
hastily  into  Ye  Olde  Grey  friars  Dining-Rooms, 
and  asked  Mr.  Traill  for  a  basin  of  water.  The 
landlord  thought  he  must  have  misunderstood 
her. 

"Is  it  a  glass  of  water  your  Leddyship's 
wanting?" 

"No,  a  basin,  please t  a  large  one,  and  very 
quickly. " 

She  took  it  from  him,  hurried  out,  and  set  it 
under  the  thirsty  animal's  nose.  The  collie 
lapped  it  eagerly  until  the  water  was  gone,  then 
looked  up  and,  by  waggings  and  lickings,  asked 
for  more.  Mr.  Traill  brought  out  a  second  basin, 
and  he  remarked  upon  a  sheep-dog's  capacity  for 
water. 

"It's  no*  a  basin  will  satisfy  him,  used  as  he  is 
to  having  a  tarn  on  the  moor  to  drink  from. 
This  neeborhood  is  noted  for  the  dogs  that  are 
aye  passing.  On  Wednesdays  the  farm  dogs. 

285 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

come  up  from  the  Grassmarket,  and  every  day 
there  are  weel-cared-for  dogs  from  the  residence 
streets,  dogs  of  all  conditions  across  the  bridge 
from  High  Street,  and  meeserable  waifs  from  the 
Cowgate.  Stray  pussies  are  about,  too.  I'm  a 
gude-hearted  man,  and  an  unco'  observant  one, 
your  Leddyship,  but  I  was  no'  thinking  that  these 
animals  must  often  suffer  from  thirst." 

"Few  people  do  think  of  it.  Most  men  can 
love  some  one  dog  or  cat  or  horse  and  be  attentive 
to  its  wants,  but  they  take  little  thought  for 
the  world  of  dumb  animals  that  are  so  dependent 
upon  us.  It  is  no  special  credit  to  you,  Mr. 
Traill,  that  you  became  fond  of  an  attractive 
little  dog  like  Bobby  and  have  cared  for  him  so 
tenderly." 

The  landlord  gasped.  He  had  taken  not  a 
little  pride  in  his  stanch  championship  and 
watchful  care  of  Bobby,  and  his  pride  had  been 
increased  by  the  admiration  that  had  been 
lavished  on  him  for  years  by  the  general  public. 
Now,  as  he  afterward  confessed  to  Mr.  Brown : 

"Her  leddyship  made  me  feel  I'd  done  nae- 
thing  by  the  ordinar',  but  maistly  to  please  my 
ainsel'.  Eh,  man,  she  made  me  sing  smaV 

When  the  collie  had  finished  drinking,  he 
looked  up  gratefully,  rubbed  against  the  good 
Samaritans,  waved  his  plumed  tail  like  a  banner, 

286 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

and  trotted  away.  After  a  thoughtful  moment 
Lady  Burdett-Coutts  said: 

"The  suitable  memorial  here,  Mr.  Traill,  is  a 
fountain,  with  a  low  basin  level  with  the  curb, 
and  a  higher  one,  and  Bobby  sitting  on  an  altar- 
topped  central  column  above,  looking  through 
the  kirkyard  gate.  It  shall  be  his  mission  to 
bring  men  and  small  animals  together  in  sym- 
pathy by  offering  to  both  the  cup  of  cold  water." 

She  was  there  once  again  that  year.  On  her 
way  north  she  stopped  in  Edinburgh  over  night 
to  see  how  the  work  on  the  fountain  had  pro- 
gressed. It  was  in  Scotland's  best  season,  most 
of  the  days  dry  and  bright  and  sharp.  But  on 
that  day  it  was  misting,  and  yellow  leaves  were 
dropping  on  the  wet  tombs  and  beaded  grass, 
when  the  Grand  Leddy  appeared  at  the  kirkyard 
late  in  the  afternoon  with  a  wreath  of  laurel  to 
lay  on  Auld  Jock's  grave. 

Bobby  slipped  out,  dry  as  his  own  delectable 
bone,  from  under  the  tomb  of  Mistress  Jean 
Grant,  and  nearly  wagged  his  tail  off  with  pleas- 
ure. Mistress  Jeanie  was  set  in  a  proud  flutter 
when  the  Grand  Leddy  rang  at  the  lodge  kitchen 
and  asked  if  she  and  Bobby  could  have  their  tea 
there  with  the  old  couple  by  the  cozy  grate  fire. 

They  all  drank  tea  from  the  best  blue  cups, 
and  ate  buttered  scones  and  strawberry  jam  on 

287 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

the  scoured  deal  table.  Bobby  had  his  porridge 
and  broth  on  the  hearth.  The  coals  snapped  in 
the  grate  and  the  firelight  danced  merrily  on  the 
skylark's  cage  and  the  copper  kettle.  Mr.  Brown 
got  out  his  fife  and  played  "Bonnie  Dundee." 
Wee,  silver-white  Bobby  tried  to  dance,  but  he 
tumbled  over  so  lamentably  once  or  twice  that 
he  hung  his  head  apologetically,  admitting  that 
he  ought  to  have  the  sense  to  know  that  his 
dancing  days  were  done.  He  lay  down  and 
lolled  and  blinked  on  the  hearth  until  the  Grand 
Leddy  rose  to  go. 

'  *  I  am  on  my  way  to  Braemar  to  visit  for  a  few 
days  at  Balmoral  Castle.  I  wish  I  could  take 
BobhTT  with  me  to  show  him  to  the  dear  Queen." 

" Preserve  me!"  cried  Mistress  Jeanie,  and  Mr. 
Brown's  pet  pipe  was  in  fragments  on  the  hearth. 

Bobby  leaped  upon  her  and  whimpered,  say- 
ing "Dinna  gang,  Leddy!"  as  plainly  as  a  little 
dog  could  say  anything.  He  showed  the  pathos 
at  parting  with  one  he  was  fond  of,  now,  that  an 
old  and  affectionate  person  shows.  He  clung  to 
lier  gown,  rubbed  his  rough  head  under  her 
Jhand,  and  trotted  disconsolately  beside  her  to 
her  waiting  carriage.  At  the  very  last  she  said, 
sadly: 

* '  The  Queen  will  have  to  come  to  Edinburgh  to 
Bobby." 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

"The  bonny  wee  wad  be  a  prood  doggie,  yer 
Leddy  ship,"  Mistress  Jeanie  managed  to  stam- 
mer, but  Mr.  Brown  was  beyond  speech. 

The  Grand  Leddy  said  nothing.  She  looked  at 
the  foundation  work  of  Bobby's  memorial  foun- 
tain, swathed  in  canvas  against  the  winter,  and 
waiting — waiting  for  the  spring,  when  the  waters 
of  the  earth  should  be  unsealed  again;  waiting 
until  finis  could  be  written  to  a  story  on  a  bronze 
tablet;  waiting  for  the  effigy  of  a  shaggy  Skye 
terrier  to  be  cast  and  set  up;  waiting — 

When  the  Queen  came  to  see  Bobby  it  was 
unlikely  that  he  would  know  anything  about  it. 

He  would  know  nothing  of  the  crowds  to 
gather  there  on  a  public  occasion,  massing  on  the 
bridge,  in  Grey  friars  Place,  in  broad  Chambers 
Street,  and  down  Candlemakers  Row — the  magis- 
trates and  Burgh  council,  professors  and  students 
from  the  University,  soldiers  from  the  Castle,  the 
neighboring  nobility  in  carriages,  farmers  and 
shepherds  from  the  Pentlands,  the  Heriot  lad- 
dies marching  from  the  school,  and  the  tenement 
children  in  holiday  duddies — all  to  honor  the 
memory  of  a  devoted  little  dog.  He  would  know 
nothing  of  the  military  music  and  flowers,  the 
prayer  of  the  minister  of  Greyfriars  auld  kirk,  the 
speech  of  the  Lord  Provost ;  nothing  of  the  happy 
tears  of  the  Grand  Leddy  when  a  veil  should  fall 

289 


GREYFRIARS    BOBB\ 

away  from  a  little  bronze  dog  that  gazed  wist- 
fully through  the  kirkyard  gate,  and  water  gush 
forth  for  the  refreshment  of  men  and  animals. 

"Good-by,  good-by,  good-by,  Bobby;  most 
/oving  and  lovable,  darlingest  wee  dog  in  the 
world!"  she  cried,  and  a  shower  of  bright  drops 
and  sweet  little  sounds  fell  on  Bobby's  tousled 
head.  Then  the  carriage  of  the  Grand  Leddy 
rolled  away  in  the  rainy  dusk. 

'The  hour-bell  of  St.  Giles  was  rung,  and  the 
sunset  bugle  blown  in  the  Castle.  It  took  Mr. 
Brown  a  long  time  to  lift  the  wicket,  close  the  tall 
leaves  and  lock  the  gate.  The  wind  was  rising, 
and  the  air  hardening.  One  after  one  the  gas- 
lamps  flared  in  the  gusts  that  blew  on  the  bridge. 
The  huge  bulk  of  shadow  lay,  velvet  black,  in  the 
drenched  quarry  pit  of  the  Grassmarket.  The 
caretaker's  voice  was  husky  with  a  sudden  "  cauld 
in'isheid." 

"  Ye're  an  auld  dog,  Bobby,  an*  ye  canna  deny 
it.  Ye'll  juist  hae  to  sleep  i'  the  hoose  the 
misty  nicht." 

Loath  to  part  with  them,  Bobby  went  up  to 
the  lodge  with  the  old  couple  and  saw  them 
within  the  cheerful  kitchen.  But  when  the  door 
was  held  open  for  him,  he  wagged  his  tail  in  fare- 
well and  trotted  away  around  the  kirk.  All  the 
concession  he  was  willing  to  make  to  old  age  and 

290 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

bad  weather  was  to  sleep  under  the  fallen  table- 
tomb. 

Greyf riars  on  a  dripping  autumn  evening!  A 
pensive  hour  and  season,  everything  memorable 
brooded  there.  Crouched  back  in  shadowy 
ranks,  the  old  tombs  were  draped  in  mystery. 
The  mist  was  swirled  by  the  wind  and  smoke 
smeared  out,  over  their  dim  shapes.  Where 
families  sat  close  about  scant  suppers,  the  lights 
of  candles  and  cruisey  lamps  were  blurred.  The 
faintest  halo  hung  above  the  Castle  head.  In- 
frequent footsteps  hurried  by  the  gate.  There 
was  the  rattle  of  a  belated  cart,  the  ring  of  a 
distant  church  bell.  But  even  on  such  nights 
the  casements  were  opened  and  little  faces  looked 
into  the  melancholy  kirkyard.  Candles  glim- 
mered for  a  moment  on  the  murk,  and  sweetly 
and  clearly  the  tenement  bairns  called  down: 

"A  gude  nicht  to  ye,  Bobby." 

They  could  not  see  the  little  dog,  but  they 
knew  he  was  there.  They  knew  now  that  he 
would  still  be  there  when  they  could  see  him  no 
more — his  body  a  part  of  the  soil,  his  memory  a 
part  of  all  that  was  held  dear  and  imperishable 
in  that  old  garden  of  souls.  They  could  go  up  to 
the  lodge  and  look  at  his  famous  collar,  and  they 
would  have  his  image  in  bronze  on  the  fountain. 
And  sometime,  when  the  mysterious  door  opened 

291 


GREYFRIARS    BOBBY 

for  them,  they  might  see  Bobby  again,  a  sonsie 
doggie  running  on  the  green  pastures  and  beside 
the  still  waters,  at  the  heels  of  his  shepherd 
master,  for: 

If  there  is  not  more  love  in  this  world  than 
there  is  room  for  in  God's  heaven,  Bobby  would 
just  have  "gaen  awa'  home." 


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Further  Adventures  of  Jimxnie  Dale.    Frank  L.  Packard, 

Galusha  the  Magnificent.    Joseph  ;C.  Lincoln. 

Gaspards  of  Pine  Croft,  The.    Ralph  Connor. 

Gay  Year,  The.    Dorothy  Speare. 

Gift  of  the  Desert.    Randall  Parrish. 

Girl  in  the  Mirror,  The.    Elizabeth  Jordan. 

Girl  from  Kellers,  The.     Harold  Bindloss. 

Girl  Philippa,  The.    Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Girls  at  His  Billet,  The.    Berta  Ruck. 

Gloryf  Rides  the  Range.     Ethel  and  James  Dorrance. 

God's  Country  and  the  Woman.    James  Oliver  Curwood. 

God's  Good  Man.     Marie  Correlli. 

Going  Some.    Rex  Beach. 

Gold  Girl,  The.    James  B.  HendryX. 

Gold-Killer.    John  Prosper. 

Golden  Scorpion,  The.    Sax  Rohmer. 

Golden  Slipper,  The.     Anna  Katherine  Greeif, 

Golden  Woman,  The.     Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Gray  Phantom,  The.    Herman  Landon. 

Gray  Phantom's  Return,  The.     Herman  Landon. 

Great  Impersonation,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Great  Prince  Shan,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Greater  Love  Hath  No  Man.     Frank  L.  Packard. 

Green  Eyes  of  Bast,  The.    Sax  Rohmer. 

Green  Goddess,  The.    Louise  Jordan  Miln.    (Photoplay  Ed.X 

Greyfriars  Bobby.    Eleanor  Atkinson. 

Gun  Brand,  The.    James  B.  Hendryx. 

Gun  Runner,  The.    Arthur  Stringer. 

Guns  of  the  Gods.    Talbot  Mundy. 

Hand  of  Fu-Manchu,  The.    Sax  Rohnier- 

Hand  of  Peril.  The.    Arthur  Stringer. 


THE   BEST  OF   RECENT   FICTION 

Harbor  Romd,  The.    Sara  Ware  Bassett. 

Harriet  and  the  Piper.    Kathleen  Norris. 

Havoc.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Head  of  the  Houst  of  Coombe,  The.     Frances    Hodgsot 

Burnett 

Heart  of  the  Desert,  The.    Honore  Willsie, 
Heart  of  the  Hills,  The.    John  Fox,  Jr. 
Heart  of  the  Range,  The.    William  Patterson  White. 
Heart  of  the  Sunset.    Rex  Beach. 
Heart  of  Unaga,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 
Helen  of  the  Old  House.    Harold  Bell  Wright. 
Hidden  Places,  The,    Bertrand  W.  Sinclair. 
Hidden  Trails.    William  Patterson  White. 
Hillman,  The.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Hira  Singh.     Talbot  Mundy. 
His  Last  Bow.    A.  Conan  Doyle. 
His  Official  Fiancee.    Berta  Ruck. 
Homeland.    Margaret   Hill  McCarter. 
Homestead  Ranch.     Elizabeth  G.  Young. 
Honor  of  the  Big  Snows.    James  Oliver  Curwood. 
Hopalong  Cassidy.     Clarence  E.  Mulford. 
Hound  from  the  North,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 
House  of  the  Whispering  Pines,  The.  Anna  Katharine  Green, 
Humoresque.    (Fannie  Hurst. 
Illustrious  Prince,  The.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
In  Another  Girl's  Shoes.    Berta  Ruck. 
Indifference  of  Juliet,  The.    Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Infelice.    Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 
Initials  Only.    Anna  Katharine  Green. 
Innocent.     Marie  Corelli. 

Innocent  Adventuress,  The.    Mary  Hastings  Bradley. 
Insidious  Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  The.    Sax  Rohmer. 
In  the  Brooding  Wild.    Ridgwell  Cullum, 
In  the  Onyx  Lobby.    Carolyn  Wells. 
Iron  Trail,  The.    Rex  Beach. 
Iron  Woman,  The.    Margaret  Beland. 
Ishmael.     (111.)     Mrs.  Southworth. 
Isle  of  Retribution.     Edison  Marshall. 
I've  Married  Marjorie.     Margaret  Widdemer. 
Ivory  Trail,  The.    Talbot  Mundy.  y 

Jacob's  Ladder.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Jean  of  the  Lazy  A.    B.  M.  Bower. 
Jeanne  of  the  Marshes.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim, 
Jeeves.     P.  G.  Wodehouse. 


AT     A      POPUL~AI*    PRICE 

Jimmie  Dale  and  the  Phantom  Clew.    Frank  L.  Packard. 

Johnny  Nelson.    Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Joseph  Greer  and  His  Daughter.     Henry  Kitchell  Webster. 

Judith  of  the  Godless  Valley.  Honore  Willsie. 

Keeper  of  the  Door,  The.    Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Keith  of  the  Border.     Randall  Parrish. 

Kent  Knowles:  Quahaug.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

i-Tilmeny  of  the  Orchard.    L.  M.  Montgomery. 

Kingdom  of  the  Blind,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim, 

King  of  Kearsarge.    Arthur  O.  Friel. 

King  of  the  Khyber  Rifles.    Talbot  Mundy. 

King  Spruce.    Holman  Day. 

Knave  of  Diamonds,  The.    Ethel  M.  Bell. 

Land-Girl's  Love  Story,  A.    Berta  Ruck. 

Land  of  Strong  Men,  The.    A.  M.  Chisholm, 

Laramie  Holds  the  Range.    Frank  H.  Spearmati. 

Last  Trail,  The.    Zane   Grey. 

Laughing  Bill  Hyde.    Rex  Beach. 

Laughing  Girl,  The.     Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Law  Breakers^  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Law  of  the  Gun,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Leavenworth  Case,  The.    Anna  Katherine  Green.  (Photoplay 

Edition). 

Light  That  Failed,  The.    Rudyard  Kipling.  (Photoplay  Ed.). 
Lighted  Way,  The.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim, 
Lin  McLean.    Owen  Wister. 
Lister's  Great  Adventure.    Harold  Bindloss. 
Little  Moment  of   Happiness,    The,      Clarence     Budington 

Kelland. 

Little  Red  Foot,  The.    Robert  W.  Chambers. 
Little  Warrior,  The.    Pelham  Grenville  Wodehouse. 
Lonely  Warrior,  The.    Claude  C.  Wash-burn. 
Lonesome  Land.    B.  M.  Bower. 
Lone  Wolf,  The.    Louis  Joseph  Vance, 
kxmg  Live  the  King.     Mary  Roberts  Rinehart   (Ph'Hoplay 

Edition). 

Juoct  Ambassador.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Lost  Discovery..  The.    Baillie  Reynolds. 
J*ost  Prince,  The.    Frances  Hodgson  BurnefiS. 
Last  World,  The.     A.  Conan  Boyle. 
Luck  of  the  Kid,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 
Lucretia  Lombard,  Kathleen  Norris. 
Luminous  Face,  The.    Carolyn  Wells. 
Lydia  of  the  Pines.    Honor*  Willsie. 


THE  BEST  'OF  RECENT  FICTION 

Lynch  Lawyer*    William  Patterson  White, 

McCarty  Incog.    Isabel  Ostrander. 
Major,  The.    Ralph  Connor. 
Maker  of  History,  A.    E.  Phillips  Op-penheim. 
Malefactor,  The.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Man  and  Maid.    Elinor  Glyn. 
Man  from  Bar  20,  The.    'Clarence  E.  -Mulford. 
Man  from  the  Bitter  Roots,  The.    Caroline  Lockhart 
Man  in  the  Moonlight,  The.    Rupert  S.  Holland, 
toan  in  the  Twilight,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 
Man  Killers,  The.     Dane  Coolidge. 
Man  Who  Couldn't  Sleep,  The.    Arthur  Stringer. 
Man's  Country.    Peter  Clark  Macfarlane, 
Marqueray's  Duel.     Anthony  Pryde. 
Martin  Conisby's  Vengeance.    Jeffery  Farnot 
Mary-Gusta.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Mary  Wollaston.    Henry  Kitchell  Webster. 
Mason  of  Bar  X  Ranch.    H.  Bennett. 
Master  of  Man.    Hall  Caine. 
Master  Mummer,  The.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Memoirs  of  Sherlock  Holmes.    A  Conan  Doyle. 
Men  Who  Wrought,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 
Meredith  Mystery,  The.    Natalie  Sumner  Lincoln. 
Midnight  of  the  Ranges.    George  Gilbert. 
Mine  with  the  Iron  Door,  The.    Harold  Bell  Wright 
Mischief  Maker,  The.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Missioner,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Miss  Million's  Maid.    Berta  Ruck. 
Money,  Love  and  Kate.    Eleanor  H.  Porter. 
Money  Master,  The.    Gilbert  Parker. 
Money  Moon,  Thei.    Jeffery  Farnol. 
Moonlit  Way,  The.    Robert  W.  Chambers- 
More  Limehouse  Nights.    Thomas  Burke. 
More  Tish.    Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 
Moreton  Mystery,  The.    Elizabeth  Dejeans. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sen.    Louise  Jordan  Miln. 
Mr.  Grex  of  Monte  Carlo.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim^ 
Mr.  Pratt    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Mr.  Pratt's  Patients.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Mrs.  Red  Pepper.    Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Mr.  Wu.    Louise  Jordan  Miln. 
My  Lady  of  the  North.    Randall  Parrish. 
My  Lady  of  the  South.    Randall  Parish. 
Mystery  Girl,  The.    Carolyn  Wells. 


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